


White Scars on the Necks of Teen Angels

by wellthisisprettyrisque (collettephinz)



Category: AFI, Avenged Sevenfold, Blink-182, Green Day, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Used
Genre: 1950s, 1950s slang terms, 50s, Abuse, Abuse of Power, Art, Brendon's adorable, Bullying, Comics, Exaggerated violence for the time period, Getting to Know Each Other, Graduation, Greasers, Guns, Hate, Homophobia, Knives, M/M, Mentioned parental abuse, Murder, Non-consensual sexual violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partner Abuse, Running Away, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 72,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/wellthisisprettyrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the blazing month of April of 1958, Frank Iero considered himself a greaser punk old enough and wise enough to truly understand just how under appreciated and underestimated he was, as an eighteen year old teen writhing in the black leather world of greasers and subterraneans, freaks and reds. He could think ten more original thoughts by his first lazy jack off in the morning than half these assholes had in the whole damn school year, and Frank knew it.</p><p>On the outside, Frank was cool and aloof, and that was how he was meant to be. But inside, he was a god damn fream of a kid who had too many genius thoughts tumbling around than could be healthy. Ignorance was bliss, but Frank Iero? He was wide awake.</p><p>Gerard Way was that artsy kid that would have never caught his eye if he hadn't seen the kid walk out of the hospital covered in bruises. But now that Frank knew he existed, he couldn't look away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirty Thunderstorms Make Less of a Mess than Me

**Author's Note:**

> **This work will be using a lot of slang terms (for authenticity and cause i hate myself), and I'll always define the ones that I believe cannot be figured out through context in the notes at the beginning of the work in order of appearance.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Your Daily Dose of Dapper Dialogue Definitions  
> Subterraneans: a hipster  
> Punks: a weak, useless person  
> Reds: the communists; an angry state of mind  
> Fream: someone who doesn’t fit in  
> Due Backs: a pack of cigarettes  
> Passion Pit: drive-in movie theatre  
> Paper shaker: a cheerleader or Pom-Pom girl  
> Bundie: a boy in need of a haircut  
> Binoculars: glasses  
> Apple Butter: smooth talk or flattery  
> “Hey Bean!”: a no-name greeting  
> Scooches/Slodges: friends  
> Hub Cap: a boy who tries to be a big wheel but fails
> 
> i'm really fucking excited for this one, guys
> 
> like, man
> 
> it's gonna be a good one

In the blazing month of April of 1958, Frank Iero considered himself old enough and wise enough to truly understand just how under appreciated and underestimated he was, as an eighteen year old teen writhing in the black leather world of greasers and subterraneans, punks and reds. He could think ten more original thoughts by his first lazy jack off in the morning than half these assholes had in the whole damn school year, and Frank knew it. Frank was ahead of his fucking time, and he deserved better than these Mickey Mouse wannabes. On the outside, Frank was cool and aloof, and that was how he was meant to be. But inside, he was a god damn fream of a kid who had too many genius thoughts tumbling around than could be healthy. Ignorance was bliss, but Frank Iero? He was wide awake.

He was also fucking tired of being in the hospital waiting room. Zacky had gotten into a brawl with some preps and come out with a broken nose and two missing fingers. Two whole fucking fingers, gone from the knuckle. Dumbest part was that it had been Zacky’s knife, the switchblade that had been snatched from his thigh by the ringleader of the Westfield High school, the rival of Williamstown high, and constant fucking thorn in his and the Bloodsuckers’ side. The fucking fights were the worst, and Burt always told them that fight alone was dying alone, so never fucking fight with a pansy while you’re stag.

But Zacky was a fucking idiot, and Frank had only arrived on the scene in time to find Zacky bent over in a ball against the wall, getting his face kicked in by a bunch of jocks. Frank was short, but all fists and teeth, and had scared them off after launching himself onto the back of the biggest brute, tearing into him with his nails and showing he was so fucking crazy that he wasn’t afraid of getting his ass handed to him. Oddly enough, a lot of assholes found that sort of recklessness to be intimidating, and they’d run off. Now Frank was int he hospital after bringing a paper bag in with Zacky’s two fingers, and been given a halfway promise that they could maybe sew them back on.

He tapped his toes erratically on the linoleum floor and wondered if Ryan was coming over tonight for dinner and homework. He’d bought anew skin mag that he planned on rubbing in Ryan’s face whenever he saw the fucker next. Frank let out a loud, heavy sigh, and let his head fall back to hit the drywall with a resounding thump. The nurse at the check in desk narrowed her eyes at him like he was in some sort of library. Frank just smirked and winked at the pretty doll, still settling for aloof, rather than enlightened. 

The swinging metal doors moved out and Frank looked to the doors, wondering if Zacky was gonna walk through, wearing that dumbass grin and showing Frank his newly re-sewn fingers, like losing limbs was something to be proud of.

But it wasn’t Zacky.

Frank narrowed his eyes and knew he knew this kid from somewhere, somewhen. He was a greasy little fucker, with long black hair that covered his face, big eyes and a straight nose, paint on his shirt, and visible love handles spilling over his jeans. They weren’t bad, though. Bob was a fucking fatty, so a little excess wasn’t bad at all, in Frank’s mind. He liked girls like that, after all. Gave him more to hold on to, and he really loved watching his fingers sink in their soft skin as they held on to him just as tightly. 

This guy, though, he was obviously one of those creative types. He had charcoal all up the side of his arm that Frank could see, just before the guy slung on a jean jacket and went to the front desk to mumble something Frank couldn’t hear, regardless of how quiet he was. Frank snorted and pulled out his due backs, pushing out a stick from the bottom and lighting it like he didn’t care that he would get kicked out, which he didn’t. He could wait for Zacky outside the hospital, anyways. The greasy boy kept talking, all hushed and secretive and shy. Frank didn't see the point in hiding anything at a hospital. They’d find out everything about you, down to your fingernails and sperm count. 

The kid finally turned around and made to leave, but his eyes froze when he saw the fags in Frank’s hand. His bright eyes flickered between Frank and the pack, going back and forth like he was deciding what to do, worrying his lower lip till it was bright red and shiny. Frank just raised a challenging brow, though he kept his legs open to show he was open. 

The guy finally shuffled forward, still hiding behind his hair. “Look, I don’t do this,” he said, voice gravelly and cracking at the edges. “I don’t talk to people, I don’t even fucking like people at all, but it’s been a rough day, and I haven’t had a smoke in nearly forty-eight hours, so— could I maybe bum one off’a ya?”

Frank smirked as he smoked. “What’s in it for me?”

“Full pack,” the guy replied automatically. “Next time I see you, and I will see you. You go to my school, we’ll have a run in.” He paused, then gestured to the due back again. “So? Please?”

Frank shrugged, pushed out another cig, then held it up as an offering. When the guy reached over, Frank saw his knuckles were bruised and split and bleeding, though they looked clean, like they’d been freshly sanitized. Frank chanced a real look upwards, and saw a huge bruise across the entire forehead of this guy. It looked pretty damn bad, like something Ryan would’ve had when he was younger. 

The kid took the cigarette quickly, though he narrowed his eyes when he saw Frank was looking at him, and took a step back, ducking his head to better hide his face. Frank didn’t say anything, only held out his lighter. The guy quickly lit his cigarette and took a long drag, expression turning into something like sex when he finally was able to poison his lungs.

“Gerard,” the guy said once he was done killing himself slowly. Frank wasn’t judging, because it was his habit too, but fuck, was it a dumb habit, according to skeptics like Frank. He wondered if Gerard also was growing aware of how deadly this shit was, or if he was just a headless, unborn nobody like everyone else. “My name’s Gerard.”

“Frank,” he replied wth a cool nod of his head.

Gerard returned the nod. “I’ll give you a pack,” he said. Then he left like he hadn’t wanted to be there at all. Frank knew he hadn’t, but the nicotine was just too good.

The metal doors open, and Zacky made his entrance with a boisterous laugh, arms swinging wide. 

“Only got one back!” he cackled. “Wait till Havoc sees this shit!”

Frank just rolled his eyes and got up to take Zacky home so he wouldn’t get sidetracked illegally drown himself in the nearest bar. He had homework to get to, anyways.

. . .

“He got one finger back?” Ryan asked as he lounged half on, half off Frank’s bed, spine bent at nearly ninety degrees like something fucking sinister. Frank nodded as he wrote harsh words to his English teacher cleverly disguised as a a short story romance that was due for class. They were already at the end of the year, only a few weeks from graduation, but Frank had been suffering from a need to get the hell out of high school since freshman year, when Burt had punched him across the jaw for spilling his pop on his jeans, and they’d become friends. “Only one. Jesus, left or right?”

Frank snorted and broke the pencil lead point. “Does it matter?”

“He’s left handed. If he lost a finger on his left, he can’t beat it for at least a month.”

Frank paused, mulling over that daunting reality in his head. A smirk grew on his face. “That fucker’s gonna have blue balls for days.”

“Least he deserves for starting a fight he couldn’t win,” Ryan snorted, hair falling all around his face like a halo. Ryan was the only one of the Bloodsuckers to break protocol and not have his hair up in the pompadour twenty-four/seven. He always washed out the grease right after Burt couldn’t get up his ass for falling out of uniform and out of line. Ryan also ways filled out his leather jacket better than Frank, though. He had the wide shoulders and tall, thin frame that Frank saw in the magazines. He could see Ryan’s face pressed between glossy pages sometime in the near someday. 

“Where’s your comb?” Ryan asked, looking at Frank with a critical eye.

“Does _that_ matter?”

“Your fucking duck butt looks stupider than usual,” he told Frank. “There’s a curl hanging down and it’s pissing me off. Let me fix it before I just get those scissors on your desk and fix it forever, while simultaneously making a newer problem.”

Frank had known Ryan most of his life. He understood this was a legitimate threat, and wasn’t keen on pissing off Burt. He sighed dramatically, getting up like it was the worst possible thing to ever happen to him, and tossed it at Ryan’s stomach. Ryan caught it, instead, and beckoned Frank over with a long, crooked finger, from where his fingers had been broken by his father when he was young.

“You know I’m supposed to be a tough guy, yeah?” Frank asked in exasperation even as he sat down in front of Ryan, who turned over and did his work. “Look at us schmucks— Bert, Travie, and Billie J are down at the passion pit to pick up a paper shaker that Billie J’s been eyeing. We should be down there with them.”

“Ain’t that a bite?” Ryan drawled, looking like he couldn’t care any less than he already did. “You know what we’re doing instead? Passing our classes so we can actually fuckin’ graduate. Unless you wanna be stuck in Jersey for another summer and a half?” Ryan shook his head. “I’d rather be here and be stupid while studying with you than being out there with those guys. Never wanted to be part of these fucking monsters, and I never will.”

Frank watched him for a moment. “… Don’t let Bert hear you say that.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond. He finished finagling Frank’s hair into his terms of submission and nodded to himself when he decided he liked it. “I’m surprised you stuck around with me,” he mumbled. “Figured you’d be going after a baby of your own instead of being stuck with a boring bundie.”

“Nah,” Frank said flippantly. “You’re the only asshole out here that doesn’t actually bug me. And I like your hair.”

Ryan snorted. “Fuck off.”

“Fucking make me,” Frank challenged with a grin. 

“I’m good,” Ryan said, sitting up on Frank’s bed. “And when do we get those new wheels? Havoc’s been itching for a new project. He says his dad got new racer blue paint, and he wants to trick out a cherry. Won’t fucking shut up about it.”

“And that’s just too much for Ryan Ross,” Frank said sarcastically. “Bert says we’re getting two new sets soon, though I’m not sure what that means. He’s probably gonna steal one, buy the other with his dirty money.”

Ryan grimaced. “And when are we going to be expected to start selling?”

“You won’t be,” Frank said firmly, letting Ryan know he wasn’t going to let Bert bully Ryan into doing anything he didn’t want to. “Really. If anything, I’ll sell enough to make both our cuts and pretend it’s from you.”

“God, that’s so much work,” Ryan groaned. “I could just get a real gig at the diner and pretend it came form drugs.”

“Doesn’t matter how it happens,” Frank said. “You’re not selling shit.”

Ryan stared up at the ceiling. “… It’s time for me to go home, Frankie.”

Frank nodded, and handed Ryan his knife.

. . .

“You and I gotta do something about what those fuckers did to Zacky’s hand,” Bert told Frank vehemently as they stood in front of the school, waiting for the bell to ring so Bert could ditch and Frank could try to make something of himself. “They can’t just cut off fingers, Frankie. You don’t bring a knife to a fist fight.”

“Zacky brought a knife to a fist fight,” Frank reminded him with a quirked brow.

“Yeah, but Zacky wasn’t gonna use it!” Bert hit his arm hard enough to hurt a little. “What the fuck is with your attitude, Frankie? You goin’ soft? Or are you just turnin’?” Bert shook his head, looking pissed. “Fuck, can’t even count on my own fuckin’ crew to back me up over this.” He turned back to Frank with almost malice in his expression. “We’re fuckin’ showin’ those assholes you can’t take on one of us alone and not get all of us on their fuckin’ asses after. Like attackin’ one of the heads of Medusa. Another will grow back.”

“That was Hydra,” Frank corrected with a roll of his eyes. Bert looked like he was going to tear Frank’s eyes out for doing that. “Dude, it was Hydra, the thing with the heads that you cut off and they grow back. Medusa turned people into stone.”

“You tryin’a' be fucking cheeky with me?” Bert growled.

Frank just sighed and stepped past Bert when the bell rang. “Let me know when we’re getting back at those assholes. I’ll be there.”

“And so will Ryan!”

“No, Ryan won’t,” Frank mumbled. He wasn’t brave enough to outright deny Bert loud enough for him to hear, but saying it out of earshot was enough to defend himself later, when Ryan wasn’t anywhere near that fistfight bullshit.

He accidentally knocked shoulders against some guy, and wasn’t even going to bother turning around and apologizing, but a hand caught his shoulder. Frank spun around, ready to break someone’s jaw, then paused when he saw it was Gerard, who was holding out a pack of cigarettes like it was a chore for him.

Frank wordlessly took that pack.

“Seeya around,” Gerard rasped, leaving as quickly as he’d been there.

Frank just nodded and went to class

. . .

Bert was waiting outside for them after the final bell, and Ryan had to go with them to whatever fight Bert had planned.

. . .

“Who the fuck brought a fucking gun?!” Ryan choked out where he was hiding behind Travis’s car with Frank. Frank laughed, though, high on the adrenaline and feeling the life or death like drugs. Ryan turned to stare at him like he was crazy, until a bullet ricocheted just overhead. The cops were going to show up ay time now, and Bert just wanted to make sure that whichever Westfield jock fucker had shown up with the gun so they would be arrested. A foolproof plan, except it meant that they had to hang around and give the asshole something he thought was sticking around for and wasting bullets.

Bert was behind his own car and kept standing, shouting obscenities and being a fucking reckless idiot so they guy wouldn’t leave. Another band, another ricochet, and Ryan wasn’t looking so good. Frank felt a twinge of guilt, knowing Ryan wouldn’t be wearing that leather jacket with the bloody emblem across the back if it weren’t for Frank. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t friends with someone as shitty as Frank.

The scream of sirens suddenly pierced his self deprecation, and Frank let out a whoop of testosterone and adrenaline, before screaming to his feet and fucking running, tugging Ryan along with a bruising grip that he would definitely regret using later. Something whipped past his ear, fast and deadly and tiny, and Ryan let out this cry that Frank figured was surprise. He could hear the police getting out of their cars and shouting things, but he wasn’t going to turn back around and investigate. He wasn’t even going to bother seeing if Bert had made it out, or their cars, though he found out very quickly, when Travis’s dinged up Firebird screeched to a halt in front of them. Ray threw open the back passenger door and pulled Ryan inside while Frank slid in through the front passenger window. Travis peeled out of that scene, laughing with Frank, both of them manic and nearly psychotic. 

“Shit, Ryan, you’re bleeding.”

Frank’s laughter died faster than Henry Kuttner. He snapped around in his seat and looked back to Ryan, staring at the long, red gash across his neck that was spouting blood like a faucet. Ryan met his eyes, skin white as a sheet and gaunt like a corpse, holding a useless hand to his neck, his expression one of pure resignation.

“It’s no big deal,” Ryan choked out, though his eyes said he was lying. 

“I’ve got a bottle of Seagrams 7 back there,” Travis told them, looking pretty freaked out now that the term “unscathed” could no longer be applied to the stories they’d tell later. 

“It’ll do the job till we get something strong,” Ray told them, and Frank was relieved that they had someone as cool and put together as Ray right now, because Frank was inwardly losing his mind way too much to be of any use. “I’m gonna use this roller derby shirt you’ve got back there, to keep the pressure.” Frank watched Ray do just that. “Blood’s too slippery to keep any real pressure,” Ray continued, though it sounded like he was talking to himself at this point. “How you doing, Ry?”

“Fucking stellar,” Ryan bit out, still staring into Frank’s eyes like that was the only thing keeping him here. “Am I gonna die?”

Ray scoffed, and Frank felt an inkling of relief. “You’re gonna be fine, Ryan. I’m just gonna get this stitched up at my place, okay? We’ll disinfect that there and wrap you up, and you’ll be home in time for the last part of dinner.”

Ryan probably would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t bleeding profusely. Frank laughed anyways, knowing his friend well enough. Ryan managed the shadow of a grin, and Travis drove like the devil was behind him. Frank didn’t see any flashes of red and blue, yet, but he was still holding his breath.

Travis got them to Ray’s place, and true to his word, Ray treated the thing with the precision of a doctor. Frank was glued to Ryan’s side, watching after cringe of pain on his face, taking in each flinch and broken noise, watching every entrance and exit of the needle into Ryan’s skin and the pain that Ryan was hiding with practiced skill. Frank felt worse and worse with each stitch, knowing he was the reason that Ryan had looked pretty damn ready to give up in the car.

“I’m sorry,” Frank said after they’d decided they weren’t going to go home with Ryan’s skin and clothes covered in blood, and Frank not looking much better. Ray offered them the bed, but Ryan insisted they’d take the floor.

Ryan shrugged, though the movement was stiff. His entire neck was wrapped up with gauze, and it looked pretty comedic, to be honest. Like a dog in a cone. “You tried to get me out of it to begin with, so that was pretty good of you. Did your best. And you were looking out for me from the start. Didn’t leave me to get shot up. So it’s fine.”

“Oh golly, you’re not saying fine, are you?” Frank groaned. He and Ryan had issues with the word “fine.” It was a bullshit word when not used to describe some really nice looking baby or whatever. Frank didn’t care much for picking up. But he did care about Ryan, and he knew the word “fine” was the furthest thing from that. “Fuck, Ry, how long are you gonna hate me for this?” A legitimate question. Ryan could hold a grudge better than the best of them.

“Just until my birthday,” Ryan sighed, sounding a bit sleepier than he had before. “… I’m gonna need to think up an excuse to tell Brendon tomorrow. Telling him I got shot isn’t going to go over well, in any sort of conversation we could have.”

“Brendon will buy just about anything. You could tell him a werewolf did it, and he’d fall, hook, line, and sinker.” Ryan didn’t respond immediately, and Frank wondered if that was somehow offensive. Ryan was a fucking tool when it came to Brendon. Almost anything could set him off if it wasn’t said right. “Dude, Ryan… He’s a little bit of an idiot. An idiot with a big heart and his head in all the right places. You know that just as well as I do.”

“Shut up,” Ryan snorted. “I’m trying to think of a decent excuse. One that he’ll buy because, contrary to your belief, a werewolf just won’t fly. B’s a classy guy, you ass. He won’t just listen to any shitty story that comes out of any mouth.”

“He’ll listen to the shitty stories out of _your_ mouth,” Frank giggled. “He’ll listen to anything out of your mouth. Because he’s just so fucking smitten.”

Ryan shoved a pillow in his face, but Frank saw Ryan’s suddenly stony expression just before getting a face full of cotton and feathers. He knew he’d crossed a line, for real this time. It was a stupid thing to say, anyways. If Bert had ever heard Frank suggest that Ryan and Brendon were anything but platonic, it would be Ryan’s head.

“Sorry, Ry,” he mumbled, a totally legitimate apology.

“Get some sleep, Frankie,” Ryan said instead of acceptance.

Frank obediently shut his eyes.

. . .

“That’s one fucking wild battle scar you’ve got there,” Bert cackled, grabbing Ryan by the jaw so he could force Ryan’s head to the side and check out the gauze. He even tugged down the wrap so he could see the stitches, a sickening look of pride and arousal on his face. “Frankie would always say you weren’t a shitty runaway. Guess he was right.” Bert fixed the bandages haphazardly and pat the side of Ryan’s face three times in a gesture that was supposed to be friendly, but mostly ended up looking like he was three clicks from slapping Ryan across the cheek. Frank bristled protectively from behind Bert. “Consider yourself redeemed. Keep up the good fight.”

Bert left to go get the details on the state of Travis’s car, and Ryan hunched his shoulders. “Fucking hate that guy,” Ryan growled. Ray, beside him, sighed and lightly touched Ryan’s shoulder, then turned and went into the school with tired steps. Frank still hadn’t remembered to thank the guy to his face. It seemed too late to say it without the words coming off as superficial or second-best.

Ryan was looking past Frank with a grimace. Frank turned to see what he was looking at, then groaned when he recognized the person approaching them.

Brendon Urie was soft, through and through. Everything about him was curvy and squishy and feminine, from his hips to his lips, a choir boy by blood with huge binoculars. He had his hair up in the same pompadour Ryan and Frank wore, a style he started copying the day that Ryan came back with the jacket for the first time. Frank knew it was Brendon’s ploy to get closer to Ryan, but Ryan ignored that reality. Brendon had been friends with Ryan for almost as long as Frank had. Ryan and Brendon had grown up next door to each other, would sometimes walk home from school together, though that rarely happened these days. Still, Brendon clung to Ryan like a howler monkey, loud and obnoxious, and Ryan always welcomed it. Unless he had a giant gash on his neck from a bullet.

“Oh golly, Ryan!” Brendon exclaimed, worried and excited to the point of shaking out of his damn shoes. “Are those bandages? Did someone do that? Was it that stray cat that lives behind the townhouse? Cause that cat almost took out poor Bogart’s eyes the other day, really nicked his ear and beat him up good! Are you okay, Ryan?”

Frank was giggling behind his hand at the kid, and Ryan lightly smacked Frank’s chest to warn him to shut up. “I’m fine, B,” Ryan told the kid, voice softening into something affectionate. Frank rolled his eyes. Brendon could cut off Ryan’s legs, and Ryan would still talk to the little fucker like he was an angel, sent to save Ryan from all his bloody transgressions. It grated on Frank’s nerves, sometimes, though he knew it was because he was jealous. Fucking kid, asshole, taking his best friend. Frank was gonna fight someone. Probably Brendon.

“What happened, Ry?” Brendon asked, reaching up to touch the bandages with light fingertips, a stark contrast to how Bert had touched Ryan’s neck just before. “Are you gonna be okay? You’ll be okay, right? You should come by after school. My mom is making shepherds pie, and the whole family would love to have you over for dinner again. It’s been nearly three months since the last time they saw you!”

Ryan shook his head. “I’ve gotta take care of some things, B. But thank you.”

The way Brendon’s face fell was absolutely heartbreaking. Frank rolled his eyes.

The bell rang and Ryan turned away to leave, sending Frank a curt nod.

Frank did the same once Brendon had left with a ducked head, but again, knocked against the shoulder of someone. And again, it was Gerard.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Gerard asked critically.

Frank just scowled and went to class.

. . .

By a twist of fate, and high school graduation requirements, Frank was taking art this final semester, and he was terrible at it. Terrible, as in, he couldn’t even draw a stick figure to the expectations of his fresh-out-of-university, “art is breathed, no made,” asshole teacher. Mrs. Werther was a woman with her pencils permanently shoved up her ass, and there was no way to smooth talk her into better grades, as Frank usually did when he was faced with such a hopeless and dismal course.

“If you don’t get an A on this final project, you’re failing my class,” the bitch told him. Frank had excused himself and hadn’t bothered waiting for permission. He’d shoved himself out of the classroom through the back door that would have tripped the fire alarm if the damn thing wasn't broken. Outside, it was too hot for his leather jacket, and he tossed the damn thing on the ground, left only his in sleeveless white shirt that he hated wearing. He lit a smoke, relaxed, and then finally heard the familiar hiss of spray paint cans.

Frank frowned and looked around the corner, to the shady side of the building that was never hit by the sun, and was usually witness to risqué drug deals and shitty hand jobs and finger bangs.

There was a guy crouched over a huge piece of cardboard, spray painting some mural of a guy with his fist in the air and some light coming from his knuckles. He had on a cape, and everything was waiting in bright, obnoxious colors that made Frank cringe, simply because he was too tired to be stimulated by such boldness. 

Then he saw the greasy hair and realized it was Gerard.

Frank almost hit his head on the wall, because now the guy was really going to think he was doing this shit on purpose. He approached from behind, keeping his footsteps heavy enough to make his presence known and not something worth of a heart attack, a cigarette already out of the nearly empty box Gerard had given him just the other day. Yesterday had been very stressful. 

“Hey,” Frank greeted cooly, standing beside Gerard’s crouched frame and holding out the cigarette. He heard Gerard let out a grunt of recognition, and then Gerard was pulling the cig from between his fingertips. He could see a bruise around Gerard’s entire neck that hadn’t been there the day before, and the bruises kinda looked like two palms and ten fingers.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Gerard grumbled, sitting back on his haunches and waiting for his cigarette to be lit, which Frank did for him.

“Oh, totally,” Frank drawled. “Just can’t keep myself away from those dark, mysterious artists.”

“Fuck you,” Gerard said. He went back to painting, looking like he intended on ignoring Frank, even though he’d just been nice enough to share one of his last cigarettes that were technically from Gerard to begin with, but no one was keeping score.

“Who is this schmuck?” Frank asked while gesturing at the cardboard, instead of calling Gerard out for being rude. “Is he some sort of fairy? He sure is dressed like one. Didn’t know it was okay to wear clothes that tight in public.”

“He’s a superhero, and part of my application,” Gerard said, sounding a little annoyed. Frank didn’t care all that much.

“Application to what?” Frank asked, crouching down so he was sitting at Gerard’s level. He stared at the painting and was impressed with the how fine the line work or whatever it was called was. Frank didn’t know it was possible to make lines that thin using spray paint.

“To a comic company,” Gerard told him like Frank was dragging the words from his very fucking soul. Frank smirked a bit.

“You’re an artist, right?” he asked, just to make sure. Gerard looked to him, brow furrowed, almost offended, which was cool, because Frank didn’t care. “I need some help, man,” Frank told him. “I’ve got this art project, you see? Last one of the year. And I’m really bad at this shit, always have been, and if I don’t get an A on this thing, I’m failing. No matter what I do.” He bit his lip, watching Gerard’s face. “Wanna help me out?”

“I barely even know you,”Gerard said, which, yeah, totally fair.

“But you could know me,” Frank replied. “You could get to know me really well. I’m not asking for that, though, just a little help so I can graduate. What do you say?”

Gerard sighed heavily. “… Sure.”

Frank perked up. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Gerard replied.

Frank grinned at pat Gerard’s thigh before standing. “Thanks, man. I’ll find you later.” He went back inside with a bright grin, and only barely stopped himself from flipping off Mrs. Werther. She was in for a big fucking surprise with this final project. Frank couldn’t wait.

. . .

“You need to change this as often as possible,” Ray told Ryan after school, at the garage, looking over the stitches. “You can get stuff from the Safeway that’s down the road from the school, they’ve got nice people, and my mom works there, so she can help you out if you need it.”

Ryan just nodded, seeming to be very stiff, but Frank could tell by how Ryan was leaning towards Ray’s touch the more he spoke was saying more than words could. Ryan had always liked Ray because Ray never raised his voice. Frank liked Ray because, not only was Ray intimidating and able to hold his own in any fight and fluent in apple butter, Ray liked Ryan. That went pretty fucking far in Frank’s book. He was sure Ryan also liked Rya because Ray was nice to Frank. He and Ryan were on the same current like that.

“You just need to clean and wrap it once and night and it’ll heal like a dog,” Ray continued, rewrapping Ryan’s neck. “… But, I’m sorry. I think it’s gonna scar.”

Ryan didn’t show any outward reaction, so Frank did it for him. He cursed sharply and kicked the fender of the shitty Ford next to him that Billie J was trying to soup up. Frank knew better than to take his anger out on anything of actual value. He threw a fist at the air, ready to find something or someone to punch, when he heard Ryan give that long, loud sigh that mean he was getting annoyed with Frank. Frank whirled around with a scowl and was ready to blow up when Bert slammed in, all chrome and grease, laughing with yellow teeth.

“Hey bean!” Bert shouted to everyone in the garage, with was Ray, Ryan, Frank, and Travis. Ray stood from where he was stooped over to check out Ryan’s neck, tall and large and intimidating. “How’re my scooches and slodges? Everyone feeling good after yesterday’s little scrimmage?” He giggled, high pitched and manic. “I’ve got some news for us. Words that I think will be sounds of sex to your ears.”

Frank figured Bert was high. “What’s the word?” he asked, just to keep Bert talking. Billie J and Zacky and Davey all filed in behind Bert, heading to Travis’s shot up car with hammers and metal and paint.

“Y’all know that shuck who brought the gun and marked up a poor baby Ryan here? Word from the bird is that he’s out of jail on bale.”

“How is that a good thing?” Billie J asked calmly, always so fucking calm. Even his eyes were always calm. “We want the person with the gun and the death rattle to stay _behind_ bars, McKracken. How the hell does him being topside help us?”

“Do you know how hard it is to get back at someone when they’re in prison?” Bert asked rhetorically, sounding like he thought he was so smart. “That half cent hub cap is gonna wish he was behind ten feet of concrete once we get to him. No one messes up a Bloodsucker and gets away with it.”

“Or, we could let him off the hook and focus on getting the bread to hop up the 1932,” Ryan suggested, low and under his breath, like he wanted to make his opinion known, but not known to Bert. Ryan had his eyes cast up, lying he was trying to see if Bert had actually heard him. Bert had.

“You got something you wanna say, you say it loud enough for all of us to hear,” Bert told Ryan in a deceptively even tone. His arms were crossed over his chest.

Ryan shrugged. “I’m just saying, I don’t see much of a point in goin’ after him, all at the ready. He’s been in jail, and that place sucks. The law already taught him not to fuck with people like that. If we go after him, the rest of those bulls will be at our throats, and they’ll all have guns too. We should just let it slide. If they want beef, they’ll come after us on their own, and we’ll be ready.”

Bert was still expressionless. “What does the back of your jacket look like, Ryan?” he asked.

Ryan stiffened, and Frank knew this wasn’t good. “It was just a suggestion, man, I didn’t—”

“What does the back of your jacket look like?”

Ryan paused. “… There’s no rose.”

The back of the Bloodsuckers’ jackets had a large skull with pointed, vampire teeth, and empty, gaping eyes, while the jaw was hung wide open. Everyone’s jacket was the same, save Bert’s. Bert was the leader of their gang, so his skull had a rose between its teeth. 

“No rose,” Bert repeated like he was thinking, even going so far as to stroke his chin. “You think that could mean something, Ryan? About ideas? Illuminations? Think maybe that rose could say something about where you belong in this conversation.”

“I’m sorry, Bert…”

“Bit late for sorry, Ryan,” Bert told him with a cruel chuckle.

“Bert, he’s drugged out of his mind,” Ray interrupted suddenly, standing tall between Ryan and Bert. “He barely knows which way’s up. Let’s just let him off this one time, yeah? Beating him to shit for this would just be useless. He can’t learn anything when he’s on what I gave him.” A huge fucking lie. Ryan had turned down medication. But at least Ray was doing something to keep fists from flying. 

Bert snorted, but uncrossed his arms and took a step back. Literally everyone was pretty intimidated by Ray when he stood to his full height like he was doing now. Bert sniffed and flicked his nose at Ryan, then turned to face Travis. “Billie J and Davey and Zackey are fixing up your wheels so when the police come around, we can prove we weren’t anywhere near no bullets.”

“What about Ryan’s neck?” Travis asked.

Bert shrugged. “Say he got a nasty hickey from some ugly broad. Say he’s embarrassed. They wouldn’t pry. Keep Ryan from the heat entirely if you can. We’ve handled worse shade than this. You know what to do.”

Travis nodded. “And, uh… the painter? He wasn’t at the regular pick up.”

Frank stood up straight, having never heard of a painter before.

Bert’s expression became animalistic. He shoved his finger in Travis’s face with deadly intent. “You don’t say that outside my ride. And you get him to my pad by tonight, no matter what that piece of shit says. We clear?”

“Crystal,” Travis bit out.

Frank looked to Ryan, meaning to ask with his eyes who the painter was, but Ryan looked a bit too close to passing out. Frank winced when he remembered he was a shitty friend. And he still had to find Gerard. They left the garage later that night with the general idea of fucking that jock up so hard his bones broke.

. . .

Frank went to school early the next morning, fully intending on catching Gerard before he could even start his name and hog him for help on the art project. He was serious about getting an A because he was serious about passing that fucking class. He didn’t want to repeat a year and force Ryan to hang around a year longer before they bailed on this city entirely. Ryan had been talking about making bringing Ray along, and Frank was looking at places to move to once they got their high school escape papers, but none of that would matter if Frank didn’t graduate. 

He looked around the school, scaring his economics teacher with his punctuality, found a music kid watching another pair of music kids trading spit on the steps, saw a drug deal between the gym coach and an honor roll girl, and then he kept looking. He didn’t really care about careless debauchery, especially on campus. He just wanted to find Gerard and interrogate him on ideas for the art project. It was supposed to be a 2-D project with any media, as long as they’d learned about it in class during the year. It had to be on 12 by 18 inch paper and had to have at least one figure, one building, and could not be monochromatic, whatever that meant. Frank wasn’t a person who could be inspired by a sunset or a person or anything, really. He didn’t have big and great ideas. If he did, he’d be the one with the rose on his jacket.

Frank knew Gerard would be here, or he should be, because Mrs. Werther had said he would be when he’d mentioned running into the guy out back. Gerard reportedly showed up early every day to work on one project or another, because he was apparently really into art and stuff and his parents weren’t home for some reason, so he came here. Frank could appreciate the need to be outside of an empty home. He then wondered if he should check out back, where he’d first found Gerard.

Frank decided that was a good idea and went out back, dragging his hand across the brick wall as he walked. He considered pulling out a cigarette, but his English teacher hated him when he smelt like smoke. Frank paused when he saw a big hunk of blank cardboard, and knew he was seeing Gerard’ project from behind. He didn’t hear a hiss of spray paint, but he figured it wasn’t a big deal. He rounded the cardboard with a half assed greeting prepared, then froze.

Gerard was sitting on the floor, crying softly. His throat was black and blue and purple and fucked up. Frank could hear how he was struggling to breathe, and it hurt just to listen to. He didn’t have paint anywhere near him, and his school supplies was scattered beside him like he’d tripped and never bothered tog get up.

“Jesus,” Frank breathed, shocked by how fucked up this poor guy looked.

Gerard’s head snapped up, and he looked angry when he saw Frank. He probably didn’t like to be caught crying. “Fuck off,” Gerard choked out, voice sounding worse than it had the day before. Frank wondered if his fucked up voice was from the cigarettes or the daily choking. 

“Who keeps leaving bruises all over you?” Frank asked, not at all intimidated by Gerard’s anger. He’d been faced with much worse by the hands of his own “friends.” “Dude, you should put, like, stuff on that. Is there stuff for bruises? Cause those look really bad.”

Gerard’s lower lip started to quiver, and that was when Frank sat down beside him.

“Gerard,” Frank murmured, just staring at the marks. “… Who’s doing this to you?” He figured that, even if it was some weird sex thing, it couldn’t be consensual. Not with how Gerard was crying from the aftermath. You didn’t cry after sex you enjoyed, and sex that you didn’t enjoy wasn’t a good thing. Frank couldn’t see Gerard letting some girl to this to him, but what else could there be?

Gerard shook his head. “… A really bad person, Frankie. Just a really bad person.”

Frank decided it would be best if they left it at that for then.


	2. You’re My Future and I’m My Own Dead End (Laugh Like the St. Vitus Dance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gets to know Gerard, Ryan already knows Brendon, and Bert's a fucking dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Daily Dose of Dialogue Definitions**  
>  Goose it: accelerate the car fully (hot rodders)  
> Square: a regular, normal person/conformist  
> Peepers: glasses  
> Yoot: a youngster  
> Storming Machine: a car that will go fast  
> Tube Steak: hot dog  
> Tank: a large sedan  
> Frosted: angry  
> Flutter bums: a good-looking boy  
>  **One Seventy-Five (175): a gay male— 175 is the same number that was used to identify homosexual males in the Nazi Germany concentration camps ( _not_ a good thing to say)**  
>  Radioactive: popular  
> Sedatephobic: fear of silence
> 
> guys can wearing back flutter bum as a compliment
> 
> like please

It was hard to forget Gerard now that Frank was actually kinda invested in the poor kid. The bruises around Gerard’s neck had been an obvious remnant of Ryan’s past, something that Frank just couldn’t shake. He wondered if he just liked fucked up people because they made him feel better about himself.

“Is it really that big of a deal?” Ryan asked him after school while he waited for Brendon to get out of choir so Ryan and him could walk him together. “He’s just some subterranean with too much time on his hands. I heard that people can get off on pain during sex. Like, it’s an actual thing. My dad has a magazine where all the girls are tied up and some of them are bleeding, but they all look like they’re enjoying it. What if that’s al it is?”

“You wouldn’t say a bad person did it if you were enjoying it,” Frank reasoned, staring intently at nothing. He knew that he had somewhere to be— he was supposed to be helping Billie J heat the car enough to be able to goose it up to 120 MPH. Frank didn’t know the first thing about actually changes and hitching engines and shit, he just wanted to help out Billie J because Billie J always had beer when he was working in the garage. Frank loved to get free beer because he was a dead end punk with zero expectations for his future. Drinking was pretty awesome, almost as good as marijuana, but Ryan didn’t like that shit. Hell, he didn’t like alcohol either, so Frank only drank when Ryan wasn’t around. Hence, why he knew he should be at the garage and with Billie J and the cold beer.

But instead, he was here, outside the school, asking Ryan what he should do about Gerard while Ryan awaited his puppy-eyed companion so he could walk the kid home, away from the dark corners of the city that were filled with drug drowned monsters and people that would love to eviscerate a soft little square in peepers. Hell, sometimes Frank wanted to just sink a knife in Brendon’s squishy belly and see if rainbows and candy came out instead of blood and flesh. That was his inner anarchist, though. One time he’d mentioned a thought like that to Ryan, and the poor kid had looked like he was ready to fight Frank off if he had to. Frank didn’t like bringing out that sort of fear in Ryan, so he usually just kept these thoughts to himself. Unless he came home drunker than he should and Ryan was there after running out on his dad. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re gonna accomplish anyways,” Ryan continued, foot tapping impatiently as he stared at the front doors of the school. Frank snorted as he watched Ryan.

“Your little zombie will be back soon, Ry,” he said. 

Ryan turned to glare at him. “You don’t have to be here, you dick. And I don’t have to be helping you.”

“You haven’t helped me one bit.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, looking increasingly exasperated. Ryan reached down and pulled out his switchblade, idly flicked it in and out of its sheath, It was a nervous habit he’d picked up after observing Ray do the same thing. Ryan would get skittish if he was kept waiting somewhere for too long without much of a definite as to how much longer he’d be kept. 

“Look, if you want to get to the bottom of this, just talk to the guy,” Ryan sighed. “He’s artsy. That means he’s really good at conveying thoughts into something more physical than just expressions and words between lines. I mean, you might have to get to know him better, but you could use another friend. One that isn’t a fucking Bloodsucker with a death wish and too many bad habits to kick.” Ryan was staring at the blade as he spoke, and Frank had half a mind to snap his fingers in front of his face for his attention. “Just, like, use your words, you growth stunted yoot. I mean it. Use your mouth and fucking talk.”

“You use your mouth,” Frank shot back lamely, just wanting to somehow come out on top of this conversation. Ryan was indignant and obviously about to say something, but the doors flew open and Brendon came shooting out, laughing like an idiot and barreling into Ryan. But just as quickly as he came, Brendon snapped back, staring wide eyed at Frank, looking guilty.

“H-hi, Frank,” Brendon greeted, sounding a little scared. “I didn’t see you there. Normally, Ryan and I are alone, so…” Brendon shrugged, and Frank wondered why it matter that Ryan and Brendon were alone when they met after school.

“So, uh,” Brendon mumbled aimlessly. He was still standing super close to Ryan, and Frank narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but that was just his inner dick talking. He wondered if Ryan was actually managing to replace Frank in his best-friend slot, if Ryan and Brendon were really that tight. But he knew he could always trust Ryan to be straight with him, so he was sure it was nothing.

“Don’t have a cow, Brendon. I didn’t mean to rattle your cage,” Frank said, taking a step away from the two. Something with how Ryan and Brendon were standing so close to one another made him feel entirely unwelcome, though only from Brendon, really. Ryan was still looking at Frank with that same easygoing expression that he always had in his eyes for Frank.

“Where are you going?” Ryan asked, seeing right through Frank’s slow retreat. 

“Gotta go help Billie J,” Frank said, smirking a bit, comforted by the fact that Ryan could still read him like an open book. “He wants me to help him soup up that beast of his. I’m pretty sure I’m just gonna sit there and look good while he does all the work and asks me to hand him shit. Beer runs and all that Tom fuckery.”

“You’re gonna be drinking?” Ryan asked quietly, not giving anything away. But Frank could also read him like a fucking book, so he knew exactly what he was thinking. 

“I’ll be fine, Ry,” he assured him. “I’ll be completely sober by tomorrow morning.”

Ryan grimaced. “If you’re sure…”

“Positive.” Frank gave them a two-fingered salute. “Catch you swingers later.” He turned to leave, but caught the way Brendon was staring up at Ryan in his peripherals, like a dirty little secret.

. . .

Frank finished all the whatever with Billie J and felt that he was slightly… tipsy. That was a good word for it. He could walk him just fine, but everything seemed like a pretty good idea, and Frank smiled at everyone he passed. They looked at him oddly, sure, because tattooed greaser punk-ass kids were never friendly, but today was a special occasion. Frank’s belly was warm with alcohol, and he’d confined Billie J to paint the body flesh-green with the white rimmed tires, and god, yes, that was going to be so fucking pretty. That was going to be a great fucking car, a real fucking storming machine, mark Frank’s words.

But now, he was away from the garage and walking somewhere, and going to see Ryan sounded like a really good idea. He knew Ryan’s dad was away on some business thing, and left this morning and would get in tomorrow, so Ryan would totally be home. Brendon liked being at Ryan’s house, saying he was working on adding good memories to a bad place so it wouldn’t be such a bad place anymore. Frank totally didn’t get it, and totally got it. And he was totally gonna go to Ryan’s house. He was also totally gonna eat a tube steak, even though he was a fucking vegetarian. Frank was a vegetarian, but everything was a good idea!

Maybe Ryan had some food around his house.

Frank moved with newfound purpose and headed to Ryan’s dingy little house. It could’ve been really nice place, a townhouse wedged between other townhouses wedged between buildings that changed owns and businesses nearly every three months. The front lawn was dead and beyond saving, and Ryan’s dad’s car was this shitty tank from before the war. It breathed death and barely woke up in the morning whenever Ryan’s dad got himself up off of his pathetic, shitty ass, and went out to actually do something with his wasted life.

Frank sometimes got angry when he was a little inebriated. Everything was a good idea when he was kinda drunk, remember? And this was no different. If Frank saw Ryan’s dad when he went over, he was going to punch his jaw in. Frank always got frosted over this shit. He was just protective of Ryan, though. That was all.

Frank arrived at Ryan’s house and climbed the same oak tree that was in Ryan’s front yard. He could climb this tree in his god damn sleep, and always tried to make the climb with his eyes closed, which he was totally doing now, because remember, every idea was a good idea. He knew he should probably holler and warn Ryan he was coming, especially since he’d totally caught Ryan beating the meat more than once. The poor kid had been so flustered, and Frank had nearly dropped out of the tree the first time. They’d laughed it off after Ryan had put bandaids on all of Franks’ bruises, and Frank only brought it up to Ryan when he wanted to get under the kids’ skin. He loved bugging Ryan.

Frank climbed clumsily, then got to the window, and reached out, intending to knock, but then his hand hit air, and woah, the window was already open. Frank grinned to himself, knowing that this was the way the world was telling him that this was a good idea. Why else would the window already be open? The only way this would happen would be if the world was all, “fuck yeah, Frank, fucking god for it you shitty little cool dude.” Frank’s ideas were the best ideas.

Frank dropped into the room and was ready to belt out Ryan’s name in some ragged song when he saw two figures on the bed and processed what he was seeing in all of two seconds.

Ryan and Brendon were naked. Completely naked. Lying together, Ryan lying _on top_ of Brendon, pinning him to the bed, totally naked. Frank could see Ryan’s pale as fuck ass glowing in the moonlight, and he could totally see Brendon’s dick, because it was standing proud between their bodies, but totally not tall at all. Brendon’s dick was actually pretty fucking small, especially next to Ryan’s, because holy shit, was Ryan hung like a god damn horse. 

And they were naked and Ryan’s hand was curled between Brendon’s legs, beneath Brendon’s body, and Frank had seen Ryan freeze his movements the second Frank had hit the floor. Jesus christ, was Ryan, like, fingering Brendon’s asshole or something? Frank didn’t know how gay sex worked, but—

Holy shit.

_Ryan was gay._

“Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?” Frank demanded, this travesty the first and foremost thing on his mind. He thought Ryan told him everything, because Frank definitely told Ryan everything. “Dude, really? You’ve totally been going behind my back and fucking the choir boy! Fuck, Ry, you totally should’ve told me. I’m fucking hurt.”

Frank looked up at Ryan and saw he looked like he was going to cry from how scared he was. Brendon actually was crying, shaking badly and babbling something silently. Ryan tore his gaze from Frank’s and rested his hand on Brendon’s stomach, whispering something to him to obviously try and calm him, but it wasn’t working. Brendon was damn near hyperventilating, and Frank was a little worried too.

“Brendon, dude, calm down,” Frank said thoughtlessly, and Ryan’s head snapped to Frank.

“Calm down?” Ryan repeated, a vicious edge to his voice. “You fucking just dropped in here and saw this and you want him to, t-to calm down?! What the fuck, Frank!”  “Hey, you can’t be mad at me when you were the one going around behind my back,” Frank pouted.

“I’m not having this conversation with you while Brendon’s naked,” Ryan choked out, anger dying as quickly as it came. Frank just sighed and turned around. He had a feeling that if he left the room, Ryan would try to run.

Frank sat there, staring at the wall, and then it dawned on him, again. Ryan was gay. And it actually didn’t bother Frank at all. He knew it would bother anyone, everyone, fucking every single person he had known, did know, and would ever know. Homos weren’t any good, and never would be, but Frank didn’t mind. Ryan was his friend, his best friend, longest friend he’d ever had. And if Ryan liked choir flutter bums with annoying exclamations, then Frank didn’t mind. Frank always knew Ryan needed to get laid.

“You, you can turn around,” Ryan said after a moment. Frank did that, and was relieved to see Ryan was clothed. Brendon wasn’t even in the room anymore. How fucking cheap of Brendon, to just leave Ryan to this awkward conversation. Frank already didn’t like the dynamics of this relationship.

“So,” Ryan began cautiously. “What you saw…”

Ryan trailed off, and Frank realized Ryan was going to take forever to say whatever, and he was an impatient person, so Frank decided he was going to take the reigns.

“Ryan, I really don’t care if you’re fucking a dude,” Frank said bluntly. “In fact, I think it’s great. I think you finally having someone to get off on and have sex with and be naked with and all that shit. You deserve a cool, steady buddy. And Brendon’s not the worst thing to ever happen to you. He’s a sweet kid. Misguided and stupid and pretty damn annoying, but sweet.”

“You’re so gracious,” Ryan replied dryly. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he kept glancing up at Frank, eyes flickering between him and nothing in particular. Then he reached up and scratched at his earlobe, and yeah, that was one of Ryan’s nervous habits. He knew what Ryan was going to ask before he’d even opened his mouth. “A-are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean, it’s a huge fucking deal. B-being… one seventy-five.”

Frank frowned. “Yeah, uh, that’s pretty fucked up to say. Especially about yourself. Like, jesus, dude, don’t fucking say that.”

Ryan sighed and shook his head. “Frank, look, I’m just trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the gay secret I’ve been hiding under my pillow has been useless when it comes to you. If I had known you’d be with it when it comes to this, I would’ve said something sooner. I…” Ryan grimaced and looked down, shoulders hunched to his ears, something else to do when nervous. “I hate hiding things from you. You’re the one person I don’t have to hide anything from. You’ve always been honest with me, and I want to always want to be honest with you, too. And just so you know, I felt like absolute shit for not telling you what was up. It’s been three months of going behind your back, and I feel like the worst person.”

Frank gaped. “Three months? You are the worst person!”

Ryan went red and punched Frank in the shoulder. “Don’t be an ass. I-I feel… geez, I feel really vulnerable right now. Telling you this. Like, I haven’t admitted this aloud to anyone before. Not even Brendon. I don’t know how to tell you this without feeling like I’m gonna vibrate out of my own fucking skin.”

“Without your boyfriend here to keep you company,” Frank snorted. “And seriously? Where the hell is he?”

“He, he was too scared to face you,” Ryan admitted.

“So he left you to this like some fucking asshole.” Frank frowned. “Look, Ryan, I’m not sure if I’m okay with him. I don’t care that it’s a him, I’m just not that okay with him being Brendon. Like, you’re with a guy who’s obviously gonna ditch you when it gets rough. And that’s not gonna be so good for you when shit gets tough.”

Ryan frowned. “Just because you know I’m gay doesn’t mean you get to decide who I’m with. And for your knowledge, Brendon’s a pretty swinging guy. What he may lack in balls, he makes up for in sheer generosity and kindness. He’s a good, genuine person. He likes being with me and lets me be me.”

“I let you be you,” Frank said, brow knit upwards in misunderstood hurt. 

“No, no, you do,” Ryan sighed. “You do, Frankie, but he’s just… he’s Brendon. He doesn’t know anything about me from when I was younger, either, so there’s no baggage. Just him and me, together. Enjoying things, and talking, and life, and…” Ryan cleared his throat, blushing. “Enjoying, uh, our bodies.”

“Oh my god, you fucking weirdo,” Frank snickered. “You’re so gay.”

“Dick,” Ryan grumbled. Then, “… thanks for not, like, spitting your disgust at me. It’s appreciated.”

“So do you keep the Bloodsuckers jacket on during sex?” Frank asked. “Because the rules are that we only take it off for sleeping. What’s the deal here? Am I holding myself higher standards than you? Sounds like a lot of unnecessary work that I’ve done.”

“Really?” Ryan asked with a sigh. “That’s what you’re gonna ask? Not, like, how it happened? Or why it happened? Or what it’s like? What Brendon’s like? What sex can be like? You have to be at least a little curious about this stuff.”

“God, you think I want to know what sex between you and Brendon is like?” Frank shook his head, punching Ryan’s shoulder like Ryan had just done. “I’m not some creep. I prefer not to know about any of this shit, ever.”

“You don’t even care about how we confessed?” Ryan asked softly, sounding a little sad.

Frank frowned. “Does it matter to you if I do?”

Ryan shrugged, doing that thing again where he was reluctant to overshare things. Frank felt bad for Ryan’s earlobe. It had to be bright red and sensitive and weird by now, right? Fuck, Frank was kinda drunk before all of this shit had happened. Now that buzz was long gone. Frank sighed.

“So, how’d you start fornicating?” Frank asked, throwing Ryan a bone. “But please spare me the dirty details. I’m not a poof.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but his expression was softening, like he was really enjoying whatever memories he was looking back on. Frank was kinda used to Ryan wanting to regal him with whatever memory Ryan felt passionate about at the moment. He didn’t actually mind listening. It was pretty worth it, because then, whenever Frank needed to get really fucking angry about something, Ryan usually let him yell at him. And that was always very therapeutic. 

“He, he and I have been friends for a while, you know?” Ryan asked, looking to Frank for his approval, which Frank gave. He knew Brendon and Ryan had been friends since Brendon’s family and moved here from Utah, away from the bible-thumping, god-fearing, shit-spitting religious freaks that gave Frank’s shaky definition of god a bad rep. Plus, being a homo wasn’t exactly the way to make you radioactive among the followers of the Mormon faith. Brendon and Ryan had met when Brendon had started walking to school (the year before their freshman year of high school) and gone out the front door at the same time as Ryan. Brendon had struck up a conversation— because the kid was a fucking sedatephobic maniac— and then Brendon had stuck himself to Ryan’s side every morning. Frank started seeing Brendon by default after that, and couldn’t shake the idea that Brendon was hiding behind Ryan.

“I just, I’d see Brendon a lot,” Ryan continued with a far-off look in his eyes. “I’d spend a lot of time with him. Started protecting him from assholes and bullies when people started to realize he was such a… well, a wuss.” Ryan and Frank both smirked at that observation. “I’d hit guys back whenever they hit him. I’d walk him home and he’d climb into my backyard whenever his parents were screaming too loud. He’d teach me about music and I’d show him my bandana collection.”

“Oh my god, I love your bandana collection,” Frank interrupted with a free-hearted laugh. “All the colors! You should wear them sometime.”

Ryan grimaced. “You know that wouldn’t fly with Bert…”

Frank grimaced, but said, “fuck Bert,” anyways.

Ryan shook his head and scratched at the gauze around his neck. It probably had to itch really badly. “One day, uh, Brendon had to go home without me. You and I were with Ray and Travis, checking out the guys that wanted to go for pinks? Checking their wheels and making sure it was even worth it. So B had walk home alone, a-and it didn’t go so hot.” Ryan then ran his hand through his hair. He still looked pretty messed up about it. “… They cut off his clothes and made him run home naked. Calling us freaks.”

Frank’s eyes went wide. “… Are you serious?”

“He ran home, bare ass naked and crying his fucking eyes out, and I was across town, jacking it with a fucking car.” Ryan sighed, head hanging in his hands. “So, I came home. He’d snuck into my room, hadn’t even gone home without his clothes, had gone straight into my room. He was curled up in my bed sheets because he didn’t have the key to my closet, couldn’t get to any of my clothes to try and cover up. And he’d been crying, and crying, and crying, and finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.” Ryan looked up to Frank with glimmering, soulful eyes.

“I was supposed to protect him, Frankie. Like I always had. I was supposed to be there for him, and make sure he didn’t have to be afraid in the streets of the god forsaken city. He was supposed to be safe, and I was supposed to be there. But I wasn’t, a-and he got fucking violated to the point of fucking P-P-PTSD, o-or something.” Frank couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ryan’s tortured gaze. “I had to stop him from crying, I knew what had happened was my fault, my responsibility. I had to kiss him to make him stop crying because the crying was so bad that he almost stopped breathing between fucking sobs, Frankie. So I kissed him, a-and it worked! He stopped crying. He stopped, and he looked at me like I was actually… helpful.” Ryan finally broke their gaze, staring at the floor, visibly ashamed. “I just, I wanna help. Want to help him. And you, but, I-I don’t really want to kiss you.”

“I’m wounded,” Frank said, voice gentle. He wanted to lighten this up a little, so he nudged Ryan’s knee. “Ry, look… I really don’t think Brendon blames you. And I don’t think he ever will. I sure as hell don’t blame you. I can’t think of anyone who would. You just… don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“He was crying, Frankie…”

“Because he'd just ran through the streets naked, but he sure as hell never thought it was your fault. Why don’t you finish your story? You’re happy with him, right? So get to the end, with the happy ending bullshit.”

Ryan nodded and lifted his hand to wipe at one of his cheeks. “So, so… I kissed him. And he stopped crying and kinda stared at me for a long time, then just… moved forward. Moved across the bed. Kissed me himself and crawled into my lap and we didn’t stop kissing for what felt like hours, you know? Just, just lost ourselves in each other.”

“Well, looks like you didn’t even have to take the time to strip him down,” Frank teased him. “Job was already done for you.” Ryan was used to Frank’s darker side when it came to humor. Ryan smiled wryly and looked like he wanted to either hug or punch Frank.

“… You can’t tell Bert about this,” Ryan said softly.

Frank’s expression fell flat. “… I know.”

Ryan nodded and leaned forward to rest his head on Frank’s shoulder. “Thank you. Again. For not hating me.”

Frank was just bewildered that Ryan thought Frank ever could.

. . .

“Hey, Frankie.”

Bert was waiting outside of Frank’s shitty apartment building, arms crossed over his chest, blowing smoke into the air like it was snowing and he had something to prove. Frank’s entire body tensed. He fucking hated being around Bert when alone. He never knew what the guy was capable of, especially without any legitimate witnesses that gave enough of a fuck to stop whatever was happening, like Ray or Ryan or sometimes Travis.

“What do you want, Bert?” Frank asked, keeping a good five feet between them. Bert knew he was scaring Frank. Bert was grinning like he knew. All teeth and rabid, unpredictable intent, like he knew he could pounce on Frank, or give him fucking flowers, and Frank would never know the difference. 

“Just wanted to let you know that I’m setting that jock’s group of fucks tires on fire. Wanted to see if you wanted in.”

Frank paused. “This is really illegal, Bert.”

“He shot Ryan in the neck,” Bert replied like it was simple. “He’s getting off too easy. Prison is only for a week because his dad sucked the right dick like a one seventy-five. One week, Frankie! That ain’t justice. That’s fucking government sticking its fucking nose in places it shouldn’t. We’re lighting that assholes entire fucking car up. And he’s gonna come back and see the shit all in flames, and it’s gonna be sweeter than cherry pie with a side of lime, baby.”

Frank stared at Bert like he was crazy. And he knew Bert was crazy.

“I’m in,” Frank said.

. . .

“I heard you’re friends with Bert McKracken,” Gerard said as he sat on the ground outside with Frank after school. Ryan was with Brendon, watching his choir club get ready for whatever concert they were having this seasonal period. Gerard had bruises on his knuckles and was going through comic books he’d brought to school, wanting to help Frank find inspiration for whatever he wanted to make his project on. Frank appreciated the effort, but nothing was clicking. All the colors made Frank feel overwhelmed and a little stupid. He preferred the absence of variety, and he knew there was a word for that, like mono-solo or mono-frame or something.

“Monochromatic?” Gerard suggested.

Frank blinked over at him, because Gerard was suddenly reading his mind?

“You were mumbling something about too much color,” Gerard explained with a sheepish grin. Frank realized it was the first time he’d really seen the other guy smile. “I just, I know a lot about art and shit, so that’s the term. Monotone is another one, but that’s for black and white, usually. They really mean the same thing, in term of shading with media and negative space. But you want something like that? Cause there are comics for that sort of thing. Noir comics, black and white, like the stuff on TV. Is that what you’d like?”

“Pretty sure it’s required to be in color,” Frank told him.

“Fuck the rules. We can do the whole thing in monochromatic schemes, or monotone, even, but with one splash of a primary, complimentary color. What media do you want? Pencil, pen, paint? Ink, watercolor, acrylic, charcoal, oil pastels? What do you wanna do?”

“Jesus, slow down,” Frank giggled, shaking his head. “Just, repeat some of those? Or just one? I mean, I kinda like the idea of, like…” He thought for a long moment. “Black, white, gray, red. Those four. Like a horror thing, but with the clarity of this decade and twentieth century, you know? Something that scares you, but you can’t look away from.”

“You’re a horror junkie?”

Frank grinned. “It’s in my name, isn’t it? Frank. Like Frankenstein. Dr. Frankenstein, that is. It’s one of my favorite stories. And movie! The one with Boris Karloff. They showed it at the passion pit one Halloween. Fucking best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“You were born on Halloween?” Gerard gaped at Frank like he’d just told Gerard the greatest secret ever known. “Dude, that’s mint! Please tell me your cake is in the shape of a human heart. And that it says: “celebrating the day it started beating.”

“That’s amazing,” Frank giggled, higher pitched than before. “Man, now I realize I’ve been missing out on such quality birthday celebration.” He smirked and shook his head. “Nah, usually Ryan and I just go throw rocks at the windows of abandoned places. He bakes me a cupcake, and gets me whatever present he’s generously selected for that year. One time? He got me an entirely new tattoo. Got me the guy and everything, didn’t ask for an ID or shit. I got this gigantic jack-o-lantern on my back. It’s so fucking cool! You wanna see?”

Gerard’s eyes were wide. “You have tattoos?”  
 Frank nodded, grinning like crazy at this point. He loved talking about his tattoos. Bert always said they were dumb, Ray was really curious every time Frank got a new one, and Ryan avidly supported the addiction. His arms were covered, and he had tattoos behind his ears, on his chest, back, hips. He was planning on getting a few on his hands. Frank wished he didn’t have to wear the heavy jacket so he could show off the inked scars.

“Can, can I see them?” Gerard asked, like he was shy.

Frank eagerly nodded and tore off his jacket, then the white wife beater underneath, baring his upper body for the word to see. Gerard stared, and stared, looking over the ink. The black and again Frank’s white skin, so pale and outlandish. Frank knew tattoos weren’t really supported in any place of this world he was in, but Gerard looked like he loved them.

Frank looked up and noticed Gerard was actually biting his lower lip. The flesh was sucked between his teeth as he chewed on it, and when Gerard stopped, it fell back out, red and raw and shiny, like he’d just had the life kissed out of him. Frank stared at Gerard’s lips like Gerard was staring at Frank’s tattoos. What was he missing? Frank knew he was missing something big right now, he just had no clue as to what it could be.

“Gerard?” Frank finally called out. “Do you… what? Is something wrong?”

Gerard dragged his eyes away from Frank’s tattoos and smiled wryly up at him. “Sorry. Art is kinda my life. I tend to lose myself when I’m looking at stuff like that. It’s just… Amazing.” He sighed that last word reverently. “It’s the ultimate form of self expression, you know? Art is how you take all those wiggly bits and dark crevices in your insides and just show it to everyone else. The art you put out is you. It’s who you are because it’s what you think about, what you see when you close your eyes, what you live and breathe. It’s you and your intricate insides and it’s always beautiful, regardless of how much it may hurt.”

Frank’s eyes were wide in awe at Gerard’s passionate explanation of what he was feeling. He hadn’t really been so entranced by someone rambling about something like this. He hadn’t really ever heard someone ramble before, though. Not like Gerard was.

“Man,” Frank said. “You really know what you’re talking about.”

Gerard flushed and smiled widely. Frank noticed how small his teeth were. “Art is the only thing I know. Aside from sex, that is.”

Frank’s brow shot up. “Wow. Right in the kisser, right?”

“I go for the throat,” Gerard gloated. 

“You think you actually know that much about sex?” Frank was sure why he was asking this, but he knew it was just two guys shooting the bushes and fucking up whatever they could. Sex was a normal thing to talk about. Frank talked about sex with Ryan before. It had been fun, while looking over skin mags from Frank’s dad’s hideout inside his desk. Ryan had blushed when Frank had pointed out the heavy breasts of the women, and Frank probably should’ve known Ryan wasn’t exactly into dames when Ryan couldn’t stare at one of the shiny pages for took long. “I’ll bet you’re a virgin, Gerard.”

“Call me Gee,” Gerard corrected thoughtlessly. “And I”m the furthest thing from a virgin. In every way.”

Frank wasn’t sure what to say of the nickname, but he kinda preferred that to the three-to-four syllable mess that was Gerard’s name on Frank’s tongue. “I’ll bet you’ve only ever been with one girl— and it was your cousin!”  Gerard laughed and shoved Frank back by his shoulder. “You little fuck! No, I didn’t! God, I, I’ve never even met any of my cousins. Pretty sure my mom was raised in a test tube. God, you’re weird. Why would I fuck my cousin?”

“Cause she’s hot?” Frank shrugged, grinning stupidly. “I mean, hot chicks like to get laid. So do ugly chicks. Really, nearly all chicks like to get laid.”

“What’s with you and chicks?” Gerard asked. His grin wasn’t there as much anymore. Frank didn’t know why not. “You’ve got a one track mind, huh? I think your brain is divided into three sections— food, women, and Bloodsuckers.”

Frank shook his head. “Food, women, Ryan,” he corrected.

Gerard paused. “… Who’s Ryan?”

“My best friend. Known him since I could walk.” Frank smiled mostly to himself. “I met him when he fell off the jungle gym and I had to help him to my mom cause his dad had left him at the park by himself. Poor kid hadn’t even shed a tear. He’s made of metal and leather and pretty boy lashes.”

“Who’s Ryan?” Gerard asked again.

Frank bit his lip, thinking. “You know that really thin, tall, princess-looking Bloodsucker? With the long hair that can barely be greased back? That would be the George Ryan Ross. But only call him Ryan. He doesn’t like being called George, cause that was his dad’s and grandad’s name. So just stick with Ryan if you ever see him and say hello.”

“Why would I say hello?”  Frank shrugged. “I’ve talked about you a bit. That’s all. He kinda knows as much about you as I know. I usually tell him everything. So whatever I know, he knows. By default.”

Gerard nodded. “I have a friend like that.”

“Yeah?” That was kinda comforting to know. “Who’s that?”  “Ray Toro.”

Frank gaped, expression lighting up. “Holy fucking shit, Ray Toro! I fucking love that guy! He stitched up Ryan, he got me a signed copy of Fahrenheit 451, and he totally knows all the dames at the back alley diner! How do you know him?”

“He was best friends with my little brother,” Gerard told Frank softly. There were quite a few layers to that statement that Frank wasn’t sure he was welcome to explore. Kinda like with the bruises and the cuts. Frank wanted to know, he really fucking did, but he knew he wasn’t invited or wanted enough to be able to find out. Frank wanted to know who Gerard’s little brother was. And he wanted to know why talking about the kid brought such a downer face onto Gerard’s. He was a good looking guy who shouldn’t look like the sky was falling. Frank sighed. 

“So, uh… my project?”

Gerard nodded. “You said you want black and white with red, right? Or something like red. We could do some horror work with decayed undertones, using scratchy movements and free hand. Do you know what media you want?”

“Pen works,” Frank said. “Black pen. And red stuff. Is that cool? Can you work with that?”

“I can work with shit,” Gerard said with a grin, obviously moving past whatever had been bothering him. “”Like, sometimes literally. I’ll bet you could shit, and I could paint something with your shit. It would need to be moist. Can you control your shit?”

“Oh my god, no, this is too gross,” Frank deadpanned. “Look, I will pay you to stop talking about using my shit to paint.”  Gerard giggled. “How about coffee instead?”

“You can paint with coffee?”

“You can paint with blood.”  
 Frank’s eyes went wide. “Grotesque. You should do that. I can supply the blood.”

“I don’t want to get sick from your gross blood,” Gerard laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve got way too much to live for. I’ve gotta get to LA, visit Europe, get my comics published, get a house and a home and I need to meet Jack Kirby and get into the new Atlas.”

“That’s one hell of a list,” Frank chuckled. “And what’s Atlas?”

“Atlas is this old comic book company, from the forties, from the war,” Gerard explained. “They made superhero comics, like Detective Comics, but with superhuman abilities. They’re revamping everything this year! I’m so excited. I want to be a part of that. I want to make comics with heroes that save the day and do awesome stuff.”

“And you’re gonna do all of it in your own shit,” Frank said with a wink. Gerard laughed, head thrown back and everything, showing off a bite mark below his jugular. It looked pretty bad.

“Who keeps marking you up?” Frank asked. He knew he’d brought this up before, and knew Gerard would probably shoot him down again, but he really did need to know. Gerard was a pretty fucking chill guy, and he didn’t think people were likely to consent to _that much_ violence during sex. Frank couldn’t imagine getting off on that. He liked rough sex, fuck yeah he did, and waking up with bruises he couldn’t remember, whether it was from a thrasher or a thrashing, was one of the best feelings in the world. But the choking was beyond appropriate, and Gerard had expressed it all being done by a bad person. that was the opposite of consensual, wasn’t it? Though Frank couldn’t imagine any girl having that type of mean streak. He didn’t like to think Gerard would let someone do that to him, either.

“No one, Frankie,” Gerard said cryptically.

“You told me it was a bad person,” Frank reminded him. “A bad person doesn’t become no one in just a few days. Aren’t I your friend? We’ve been making shit jokes like friends. And we’ve talked about sex. We’re friends, Gee. So trust me like a friend and tell you.”

“I can’t tell you,” Gerard sighed. “So just… let’s stop talking about it. Okay? I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just get your project done, and call it a day. You need this to get the grade, and that’s it.”

“So am I not your friend?” Frank asked indignantly. He knew that it was probably going to come off as really creepy that he was so blatantly and verbally obsessed with being Gerard’s friend. He had plenty of friends as it was, anyways. He had Ryan and Ray and Travis and Billie J. Sometimes the other guys. Definitely not Bert, but he was a packaged deal that Frank would never be able to send back. He kinda had a feeling Bert would see his wedding, or more likely, his funeral. And Gerard was a cool guy who seemed to have his head in the right place (aside from the questionably consensual masochism), and Frank didn’t have any artsy friends. He liked being around creative and smart people. Frank needed to be around free thinkers, and Gerard was definitely one of those.

Gerard looked to him like he could read Frank’s thoughts. “… You’re my friend.”

Frank smirked and pulled out a piece of notebook paper so Gerard could have something to work with. “Fucking right I am.” He sat forward, eager to watch Gerard work. He felt like it was a special something to behold.

. . .

Frank trumped down the steps of the school alone, ready to head out into the streets. Gerard was staying behind, something about talking to an art teacher about canvas sizes. Brendon’s concert was running longer than anticipated. Frank had snuck in to ask Ryan what he wanted Frank to do, and Ryan had said he wanted Frank to get his face out of Ryan’s face because he smelled like chemicals and nicotine. Then he’d told Frank to just go home, that Ryan would be there eventually, because they had shit to discuss. Whatever shit that was, Frank didn’t know. He was just happy he wouldn’t have to see Ryan and Brendon mack on each other like a bunch of middle schoolers.

He’d seen Brendon and Ryan kiss once after finding out. Brendon really had tucked tail and ran after Frank and toppled through the window. This morning, when Brendon had shown up to walk with Ryan before school (because Frank had stayed over and stuck with Ryan for the night), Brendon had immediately acted like he was a red facing the white and blue. Ryan had eventually coaxed him out of his shitty little display of weakness, and then assured him enough to give him a soft peck on the lips. Ryan had been watching Frank carefully the whole time. Frank had just shrugged, and when Ryan had smiled in relief, Frank knew he had passed a test.

Frank was on his way home now, footsteps light with contentment. He was feeling pretty good about pretty much everything. Ryan wasn’t freaking out over Frank not freaking out, Brendon looked like he was gonna get his head out of his ass soon, and Gerard was one of the snazziest guys Frank had ever met.

Frank stopped short when he saw Bert standing on the sidewalk in front of the school building.

“Stay the fuck away from my painter,” Bert snapped, gaze deadly. 

Then Bert turned on his heel and left.

Frank watched him go with absolute confusion


	3. Ten Seconds of Oxygen Remaining (Lately I’ve Been Seeing Too Many of My Boys Put in the Dirt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fights happen and people are in the know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man i have a tumblr now
> 
>  
> 
> [i mean if you want](http://wellthisisprettyrisque.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> Daily Dose of Dialogue Definitions
> 
> Cop a Breeze: to leave  
> Cut the gas: be quiet!  
> Closet case: someone to be ashamed of  
> Ain’t that a bite?: that’s too bad  
> Burn some rubber: to accelerate hard  
> Boss: great  
> Bash ears: to talk  
> Crazy: to imply an especially good thing  
> Cranked: excited  
> Cast an eyeball: to look  
> Are you writing a book?: you’re asking too many questions  
> Low: depressed  
> On the hook: in love  
> Real gone: very much in love (implies person to be unstably in love)  
> Flutter: (flutter bum) good looking boy  
> Razz my berries: excite or impress me  
> Put an egg in your shoe and beat it: leave!

“I’ve got the kerosene,” Frank whispered to Davey. It was in the middle of the bonfire ceremony of their rival school, the same assholes from Westfield who cut off Zacky’s fingers, and shot Ryan in the neck. They were in the middle of Bert’s plan, of burning the jocks’ fucking cars. Frank knew it was a bad idea, because gas tanks could blow up in seconds, and then they’d kill so many people, god, if they ever got caught for this, they’d be dead. Frank had told Ryan to stay the fuck away from this, and Ray had made up some bullshit about Ryan needing to rest because Ray was pretty sure the neck wound was infected (total bullshit, but he appreciated Ray putting his neck out there for Ryan). Ryan and Ray had stuck behind in the garage. Frank was stuck out here, putting his fucking future on the line for another one of Bert’s neurotic— fucking psychotic— ideas.

Frank knew this was dumb. Knew that this was practically suicidal. He wanted nothing more than to cop a breeze, just get out of here, but that would be anarchy and mutiny, and he’d be just as dead from that, too. He could hear shouting and laughter and chanting, and knew Westfield was getting ready for big game that meant absolute shit to Frank. He knew he was one of the less school-spirited dudes out there, but he thought other students over did this shit. They might as well be fucking on tables with how ravenous they were. Like horny rabbits with low morals and little loyalty to anything or anyone at all. Frank hated kids like these. He hated their impassiveness and apathy, that they cared about only the people who would get them off, and then their grades. He hated people who saw materials as more important than humans. He didn’t give a fuck about anything but Ryan and Gerard and kinda Ray. Maybe Ray? Definitely Ray. Ray had been nothing but good to him. Frank would include Ray in his tiny list.

“Bert’s gonna give the signal,” Davey whispered back, eyes trained on the bonfire. “We’re gonna break their windows and light the interior up. Use your elbow or something. We’re leaving no trace.”

“This is fucking looney,” Frank grumbled, feeling like Davey should know how not okay with this bullshit plan he was. “We’re gonna get ourselves killed.”

“Probably,” Davey replied. He looked to Bert, then nodded. “Cut the gas. Go.”

Frank darted forward with Billie J right behind him, and Travis behind Billy J. They all had jugs of kerosene, and Frank suddenly noticed that Bert wasn’t even the one doing the dirty work of his fucked up plan. 

There were four cars for them to go after, and Frank had the first. It was something shitty, like the guy was borrowing his mother’s car, and Frank really did feel bad for lighting it up, he actually had a fucking conscious, but Bert didn’t, and Bert didn’t care that anyone did. Frank was just gonna get this over with and get out. He wrapped up his fist in the rag that he was gonna light to start the flames, then smashed his elbow into the window with all the adrenaline he had in his body. The pain was immediate and awful, but he ignored it. He could hear screaming from the bonfire, could see the shadows dancing across the metal of the car, and felt like something, somewhere was trying to warn him away. Frank doused the seats in kerosene, then soaked the rag in the last of it. He tossed the can into the car, pulled out his lighter to light up the rag, then threw it into the car as well.

The whole thing burst into flames, and Frank started running. There weren’t bullets flying behind him like the last time he’d ran away like this, but the heat was enough, and his heart was pounding faster than ever before. He was going rabbit heart quick, sprinting like the wolves were behind him. Frank ran to Travis’s car, only chancing a look back then when he finally felt like he’d gotten far enough away. Frank noticed a lot of clamor at the bonfire, beyond the burning cars. He squinted and tried to see what it was.

Then Bert came running up with Travis and Davey and Billie J close behind. Bert was laughing his fucking head off, screaming insults and obscenities and downright violent threats behind him. His cheek and jaw was split in places and there was blood pouring from his nose. 

Fuck, Bert had started a fight at the bonfire. 

“Fucking go!” Davey yelled. Frank climbed into the driver’s seat of Travis’s car and revved the engine, waiting for Billie J to swan dive into the passenger with Travis going into the back. Davey got into Bert’s car, which Frank knew because he didn’t go fucking anywhere until he knew Bert wasn’t going to be an absolute monster and leave anyone behind. Frank drove away with the devil gnawing at the back of his mind, and prayed no one had actually recognized them or their jackets. He didn’t have many plans for the future, but he sure as hell wasn’t planning on going to jail either.

Frank didn’t going twenty below the limit until they were in their own familiar neighborhood, though he knew they were actually gonna circle around and work on falsifying an alibi. Travis made him get out, jokingly saying that Frank would make his damaged transmission worse (because bullets weren’t any good for cars), and Frank had just nodded and let Travis start driving. He dropped into the back seat and suddenly realized how tired he was.

“… Bert started a fucking fight,” Frank said, voice full of empty. He couldn’t believe Bert would be them in danger like that. Wait, scratch that. Bert would totally do that. Frank just couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it coming.

“He’s volatile,” Billie J replied with a shrug.

“You guys know anything about a painter?” Frank asked. “Someone he calls that? Says “his painter,” or something like that?”

Travis stiffened, but Billie J looked clueless. “Who?” Billie J asked, brow furrowed.

“The painter is some fucking chick he’s fucking,” Travis told them stiffly. “But he gets pretty fucking angry if you talk about her. Don’t bring her up. He nearly broke Davey’s jaw when he did. I saw it happen. Bert turns into a fucking firecracker when you bring her up.”

“It’s a her?” Frank had to ask, because Frank definitely hadn’t talked to any girls in the past couple days, and definitely not something to merit what Bert had said to him outside the school. Bert had acted like Frank was trying to take a shit on his porch, if that porch was Gerard. But Frank had never, ever seen Bert and Gerard interact, even when Bert had still attended his classes, so maybe Bert and Frank just had some misunderstanding, and Bert really was talking about some girl painter that Frank might have brushed shoulders with. If that was the case, then it was no windfall. Frank would just hash it out with Bert and clear things up, absolutely crystal. 

“It’s gotta be a her,” Travis said. “What else would it be?”

“Why the fuck are we talking about this?” Billie J demanded, eyes narrowed. Frank noticed that he had a dark bruise around his entire left eye. He wondered if Billie J hurt himself on something. “Jesus, we’ve got to fucking get out of here! We can’t get fucking arrested! We’ll be fucking slaughtered in the pen! Fuck, Travis, I can’t fucking go to prison, I can’t make Addy visit me while I’m in a fucking cell!”

“You’re back with Adrienne?” Frank asked out of the blue. His was running on nothing but adrenaline, and was having trouble staying focused on anything. 

“He’s always back with Adrienne,” Travis snorted. “And J? We’re gonna be fucking solid, so cool it, or you’re gonna be a closet case for the rest of the week. I’ll even tell Bert. You’ll never hear the end of it then.”

“Ain’t that a bite?” Frank asked with a wary grin. 

“Fuck you both,” Billie J snapped, dropping into his seat and putting his feet up on the dashboard. “Fuck Bert for getting us into this shit again. He’s such a fucking monster. I don’t give a shit about the friends of the guy who shot Ryan! Just care about the asshole who did it! For all we know, those jocks had no fucking clue their friend brought a gun.”

“Bert’s volatile,” Travis repeated. “That’s it, J. We can’t do shit about it. He’s in charge for a reason. Without him, we wouldn’t have a rep to our name. But with him, we’re one of the most feared jackets in all of fucking Jersey. Now hold on tight, chaps. I’m gonna burn some rubber.”

. . .

Frank heard about the cars the next day on the local radio station. Travis had gotten him home at around 3 in the fucking A.M., and Frank was still in bed, mentally, even as he walked the dead halls of his school. He’d woken up late and missed the meet up with Ryan, so he didn’t even have the upside of seeing his best friend before facing the gallows of missing first period. His homeroom teacher was a crock-of-shit waste-of-space, who rarely cared about anything beyond her curled up-do, but Fran still ended up with lunch detention, and wasn’t that just a sack of shit? Frank hadn’t even brought a lunch, so he went hungry that day, and being hungry left him grumpy and pissy and standoffish. 

He went to art with a scowl on his face, muddled through faking creativity with the continuous scowl, listening to the teacher berate his lack of commitment with more of a scowl, and then he sat at his desk, arms crossed over his chest, scowling. He was waiting for Gerard. The fucker was taking too long, and he realized earlier this morning that he should probably check with Gerard about Bert before Frank went headlong into the discussion with Bert on an assumption. Because god forbid the painter wasn’t a girl. He wasn’t sure what he would do if this actually was about Gerard. 

He fucking liked being around the guy! He liked talking about shit with him. Liked hearing about Gerard’s aspirations and liked knowing that Gerard wanted to help him. It was great to have a friend like Gerard. He could totally see himself being friends with Gerard outside of school if Frank wasn’t a Bloodsucker. God, sometimes Frank hated himself for putting on this jacket. It wasn’t like he’d grown into this thing with friends and shit at his side. He’d pulled it onto his arms with optimism that Frank now knew was misguided. He knew that it had been fucking dumb to think that joining a fucking gang would fix his and Ryan’s problems.

Except, it had totally gotten a knife in his hand. And that was always useful. Same for Ryan. Ryan had been so happy the day Ray handed him a knife. He’d hidden it like a fucking pro, of course, hadn’t shown that happiness until Bert and Travis had left the room, but Ryan had already gotten to trust Ray, so he had smiled at Ray and thanked him with gushing enthusiasm once the others were gone. So maybe putting on the jacket wasn’t the end of the world. But he definitely knew it was one of the less well-thought out decisions he’d ever made.

“Hey.”

 Frank’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed when he saw Gerard’s face, neck, and all visible skin was bruised eight ways to Sunday. It was nearly horrific, and Frank almost cringed away from the sight. Gerard’s nose looked broken, and his cheek was puffy and pushing his left eye part of the way shut, like a half moon of trauma and broken blood vessels. 

“Whoever’s doing that to you—”

“Can we not?” Gerard asked with a sigh, dropping his bag onto the floor next to the seat that was next to Frank’s. Gerard dropped into the chair and let his hair cover his face. “I know you don’t get it, but I said it was okay. And I get that doesn’t make sense to you. Just drop it for now, cool? I’m fine. Peachy. I let this happen.”

“You need fucking therapy if you’re okay with that,” Frank deadpanned. “There’s no way someone can be into pain like that. If you are, it’s unhealthy, and you need to see someone. Might as well just knock your head into the wall and get a concussion that way.”

“What if concussions turn me on?” Gerard asked with a smirk. Frank wasn’t sure if it was real, but he knew it couldn’t be legitimate, and that Gerard had to be lying. How the hell would you get off on having a concussion? Was the threat of permanent brain damage arousing or something. 

“You need a fucking head doctor,” Frank grumbled.

“I’m fine with weed and alcohol, thanks,” Gerard sighed. He reached into his bag and pulled out a ratty, torn up sketch book that looked like it had been in the war on its own, single handedly taking down Nazis and Reds left and right without prejudice. Frank wondered if Gerard had actually used that sketchbook so much that it got ruined through wear and tear, or if he’d just had it strategically ran over by bikes and cars so it would look like he’d used it a lot. Frank didn’t know Gerard that well, but he seemed like the kinda of guy to force aesthetics. 

“Okay, so, I was working on sketches for your project,” Gerard told him, flipping through pages of the tattered sketchbook. “And, uh, I was thinking— if I got to know you better, I’d be able to help you make something that’s a lot more accurate to you, you know? So your teacher doesn’t think you’re cheating.”

“You’re not gonna make me actually draw it, are you?”

“God, no.” Gerard scrunched his face up in exaggerated disgust. It made his nose crinkle in a way that reminded Frank of Ryan. “You’re obviously pretty damn abysmal at this sort of thing. Maybe you can make a few doodles here and there, but nothing that’s gonna get you the A you need to pass this class. No, I’m just gonna get to know you little better so I can mimic your personality well enough in the style to make something believably yours.”

Frank smirked. “So, you’ve gotta make it look shitty. But a boss shitty.”

“Essentially,” Gerard chuckled. “I’m sure you’ve got a plethora of ideas in that head of yours, but sometimes the hands just won’t cooperate. That’s why I’m here. So I can translate the psycho inside onto pen and paper.”

“I should just come over to your place and tell you all the crazy shit in my head while you draw whatever comes to mind,” Frank half-joked. But Gerard’s eyes went wide, and Frank was bewildered by how his dumb ideas could be so fascinating and even something of genius to someone who was already as smart as Gerard. 

“You need to come over to my place and just bash ears while I draw,” Gerard echoed, nodded fervently. “This, this is a good idea. A really good idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.” He looked to Frank with newly found intensity. “What are you doing tomorrow? After school? Are your parents cool with you not coming home? You should just come to my place and stay over. I’ll pay for food and everything. You should just stay over and we can drink and work and I’ll create the greatest art thing that could ever come from that head of yours.”

Frank laughed. “I’m free tomorrow.”

“Fuck yes,” Gerard breathed, grinning wide. “This is gonna be crazy, Frankie, I’m so fucking cranked for this.”

“Do you know Bert?” Frank asked. He knew it was unprecedented, and probably a little rude since they were in the middle of making plans, but Frank suddenly realized that if Gerard really was Bert’s painter, then going over to Gerard’s house tomorrow was not a good idea. He didn’t want to agitate Bert. He knew that would likely get him killed, or at least, severely scarred. 

Gerard’s expression didn’t give anything away. “He’s the guy in charge of your gang. And his parents are friends with my parents. They have dinner together and stuff. I grew up with him. He knows me kinda well, I guess, and I kinda know him. Really, he just knows the younger me. I don’t see him at school all that often. Sometimes he’ll tell me about a comic or something. We don’t really hang out for fun or whatever. We’re not really friends.”

It was sobering to know that Bert was Gerard’s Ryan. 

“Are you his painter?” Frank asked cautiously.

Gerard snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m not his anything.”

Frank tried to feel relieved about that. “Okay. Cool.”

Gerard went back to grinning. “Meet me after school tomorrow, back behind this building where we smoked together that first day. I’ll walk you to my place. This is gonna be a fucking jazz house.”

. . .

Frank had Ryan and Brendon over at his place that night after working with Gerard. “Working with Gerard” was a loose term, really. He and Gerard had actually spent the rest of their time together talking about the project Gerard had just finished, the giant comic-hero piece on the cardboard that Frank had seen. It was nice to talk to someone about nothing, even if they were both better off talking about an actual something.

Now Frank was at home, lying on his bed while Brendon and Ryan were together on the floor. Ryan had asked Frank a while ago to let something like this happen, so Brendon could get used to having Frank around, because Ryan said that since Frank was so big in Ryan’s life, Frank should be kinda big in Brendon’s life, too. Frank just really appreciated being included.

Except, right now, he didn't want to be included.

Brendon had spent the better part of the last hour trying to get Ryan to have fucking sex with him.

_”Frank’s asleep,” _Brendon had been whispering. _”I’ll be quiet, I promise.___

__Fuck you, Brendon, you’re not fucking quiet, you can never be quiet, you don’t even know the meaning of the word “quiet.” Brendon couldn’t be quiet if someone stapled his mouth shut, he’d just pull his lips apart in a bloody mess of skin and sickness. Brendon would sooner maim and scar himself before being quiet._ _

___”Ryan,”_ Brendon had pleaded. _”Please? When will we get the chance again?”__ _

__God, Brendon just kept begging._ _

___”Please, Ryan, I need you…”_ _ _

___“I need you, Ry, please?”_ _ _

___“I need you so badly._ _ _

___“I love you, Ryan…”_ _ _

___“For me?”_ _ _

__Frank could almost hear the moment Ryan caved, like an explosion underwater, muted and definitely anticlimactic, but still producing enough of a shockwave to rock the boat. Ryan got up silently, though Frank could see him silhouetted by the moonlight coming from his window that had no curtain, because Frank had set them on fire. Frank watched Ryan sit up and straddle Brendon, and Brendon threw his fists into the air like a fucking bitch, god, Ryan could do so much better than this fucking squirrel of a boy. Everything about this kid got on Frank’s nerves right now, because he wasn’t sure if he should interrupt._ _

__He should totally interrupt._ _

__Brendon and Ryan were kissing sloppily, and Frank knew all the sounds coming from the pair were mostly coming from Brendon. Brendon was making slurping noises and little moans and Brendon’s legs came up and latched around Ryan’s hips. There was the rustle of clothing, so Brendon had to be losing his shirt, because Ryan already slept in his underwear. It was a rebellious thing Ryan had started doing around the same time Ray had given him the knife that would finally let Ryan feel safe in his own home._ _

__“Ryan, yes,” Brendon breathed, and jesus christ, that little fuck was gonna talk the whole fucking time, wasn’t he? Frank watched a shirt fly somewhere to the left, and he realized he wasn’t going to interrupt, because he was kinda… curious. Not about Brendon, jesus, no, and definitely not about Ryan, because that would be like getting off on his sister or something. But he had no idea how two guys would get it on. He had no idea two guys ever actually wanted to get it on, anyways. He kinda wanted to see, like, the logistics. The details. The plans of how two guys fucked._ _

__So Frank cast an eyeball to the two boys and thanked whoever was up there for the natural censorship the darkness provided. He knew that he could probably just ask Ryan questions some other time, but he didn’t want to be met with a condescending, “ what, are you writing a book?” Ryan could get pretty defensive when he felt like someone was encroaching on his privacy just a little too much. Frank would get a lot more accurate information this way._ _

__Frank came back to what he was kinda seeing when he heard the sounds of Brendon’s full-on moans, and this weird, yet familiar sound of, oh jesus fuck, Ryan was jacking him off. He could hear the slick sound of jacking off a dick, and he knew that Ryan had licked his palm or something, then set to pumping Brendon’s iron. Frank would know that sound anywhere because he was a red-blooded male with sexual needs that usually involved touching himself late at night with skin mags and his imagination. Frank fucking knew that sound and god, why hadn’t he interrupted before things became this far past the point of no return? Interrupting now would mean they’d both know Frank had waited to stop them. It would be mortifying to explain why, and Brendon would probably throw a fit, and then Ryan would be moody because he really just wanted Brendon and Frank to be fucking besties, so Frank couldn’t fix this, he knew that. He was going to be condemned to see this through to the unfortunate and unhygienic end._ _

__Frank was sure that biting off his own fingers, one by one, would be less painful than listening to the sounds Brendon made as he got closer to summing in the fist of Frank’s best friend._ _

__And this was just so fucking gay._ _

__This had to be the gayest thing Frank had ever done._ _

__He had no idea what it was about Brendon that made him appealing to Ryan. Was it the hair? The over-exaggerated features? The tiny dick or the long fingers or the huge ass? Was it the way Brendon wouldn’t shut up, or the way that he clung to Ryan’s side like he’d been sewn to the spot? Frank didn’t see it. He couldn’t understand why Ryan was into this guy. He couldn’t understand how Ryan was able to get it up and get it going and actually see it through to the end. Now, if this was Gerard, he’d—_ _

__“Oh my god,” Frank said in a low whisper, because he was still in sneaky-mode, and Ryan and Brendon had (un)thankfully not heard him. He couldn’t think, really, so he was relying on his instincts to remain silent._ _

__What the fuck was that, Frank?_ _

__If this was Gerard?_ _

__What the fuck did Gerard have to do with anything, especially when that anything was something to do with Ryan getting Brendon off? Bringing in Gerard was like Frank was trying to rationalize or relate, but how the fuck could he relate to gay sex, and how could he relate to Gerard being included in gay sex?_ _

__God, this was dumb._ _

__Frank rolled over just in time to hear Brendon finish with this high pitched squeals that totally weren’t hot, and made himself fall asleep._ _

__. . ._ _

__“You were listening?!” Ryan almost shrieked, definitely saying that way too loudly to be appropriate in public. Frank had convinced Ryan to walked with him to school ahead of Brendon because he needed to talk to him about a super important something that Frank wasn’t actually that attentive to, even though it was his own issue. Frank honestly didn’t have an issue. He just wanted to let Ryan know that he kinda totally heard them._ _

__“You two were fucking fucking on the god damn floor of my bedroom, what was I supposed to do?”_ _

__“Uh, golly, I don’t know, Frank! How about not listen!”_ _

__Frank shrugged. “Whatever. It totally happened. And dude? Brendon’s weird.”_ _

__Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll punch you in the throat.”_ _

__Frank laughed. “You’re so cute when you're being protective.”_ _

__“Did you need me for something?”_ _

__“Uh…” Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. Kinda just wanted to tell you that I heard you guys and I think Brendon sounds like he’s a duck being strangled in a weirdly sexual way that confuses all the little swingers and dancers.”_ _

__Ryan shook his head. “I could’ve been walking with Brendon to school right now. Could be holding his hand, or, like, pretending to hold his hand. Actually just pretending to hold his hand, which sucks, but one day, I will get to a place where I can hold his hand in public and wear headbands and never look at the back of this jacket ever again.”_ _

__Frank stared at him as they walked. “You’ve never told me this before.”_ _

__Ryan sighed and shrugged. “I didn’t want it until I got with him.”_ _

__Frank frowned. “Dude… you’re gonna get me low.”_ _

__Ryan grimaced and shoved him gently._ _

__“Are you already on the hook? Real gone? Not for the blow?”_ _

__Ryan’s grimace became an expression of fear. But only for a split second. Ryan was really good at not showing fear or pain. Probably because he had a lot of practice. Frank kinda looked up to that mask. He wished he had one like it._ _

__“Just because I’m in love with a boy, doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing to be in love.”_ _

__“You think that’s what I’m asking about?” Frank snorted. “God, Ry, I’m not a fucking dick. I’m thinking the opposite of what you're saying. Just because you’re already in love doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing that you’re in love with a boy.” Frank nudged him with his shoulder. Ryan nudged back and Frank almost stumbled into the street. Ryan’s arm snatched out and latched onto Frank’ elbow to keep him from the asphalt. “Ryan, I don’t give a flying fuck that Brendon’s a boy. I just think it’s a little early for you to be in love like this. Especially with some kid that runs away when being caught. Who tries to get you to fuck you in his best friend’s bedroom, won’t take no for an answer. That’s pretty manipulative of him.”_ _

__“No, Brendon, he’s not…” Ryan sighed. “He’s just, he’s scared. He grew up as the youngest of a bajillion other rug rats and he’s not a coward, he’s a really good person and he’s nice to nearly everyone, but… he’s not a fighter.”_ _

__“He fucking ran when I came through that window,” Frank deadpanned. “He doesn’t have your back. Not like I do.”_ _

__Ryan snorted. “Are you jealous?”_ _

__“Yes!” Frank huffed. “I’m fucking jealous. Here you are, head over heels like an idiot, and I’ve only ever had cheap fucks! I’ve never been in love before, hardly ever loved in the first place, and you’ve got this little flutter going after you like a dog in heat. You fucked on my fucking floor, Ryan. You let him talk you into that when I could barely get you to admit that you masturbate. I’m jealous because you’ve got this swell guy, a-and I’m all alone.” Frank looked down at his scuffed shoes. He saw a bit of blood on the toe that hadn’t been there a few days ago. He wondered whose it was. “… I’m gonna miss you Ry. Cause now that you know that I know and I’m ice with it, you’re not gonna feel the need to keep up pretenses. You’re gonna bail on me for him all the time now.”_ _

__Ryan scoffed. “Now it’s my turn to tell you I’m not a fucking dick.” Ryan nudged Frank again, though much more gently, not wanting to push Frank into the street again. “I’m not gonna leave you behind for him. If anything, Brendon’s pissed at me for being with you all the god damn time. He’s the one who’s jealous. I can barely talk about you without him pouting in that adorable way, with his lip jut out and his eyes all wide and…”_ _

__When Ryan trailed off, Frank looked to him and noticed he was blushing. Frank snorted and shook his head._ _

__“You’re real gone.”_ _

__. . ._ _

__“Bert, I need to talk to you,” Frank began cautiously. Bert was addressing everyone while smoking a cigarette, going over stories about the night with the cars, just in case they were questioned by anyone who could get them into actual trouble that didn’t involve fists. But Frank wasn’t really focused on any of that, like he should’ve been. Frank knew he should’ve been taking in the story, like Ray was, like Travis was, like fucking everyone in his right mind who understood how fucking dangerous everything was, but Frank was at school now, and being at school meant that he remembered everything that was going wrong in his own life. With Gerard. With Bert and the bruises. Frank needed to make sure Gerard wasn’t the painter._ _

__“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie,” Bert sighed, swinging his leg as he turned in three half circles. He was on something today, something poignant and fierce. Fuck, Frank really shouldn’t be talking to him today. “Frankie, what’s the matter, scarecrow?” Bert smiled at him, wide and horrifying. Frank stood on edge. But Gerard was flashing behind his eyelids, so Frank couldn’t back down. “Scarecrow, you know you shouldn’t talk out of turn,” Bert warned in a low voice._ _

__Jesus fucking christ, Frank should really let this go._ _

__“I need to ask you about something,” Frank said anyways._ _

__Bert moved into Frank’s personal space, alive and deadly, pupils so large that Frank could see his reflection in the hollow ink of biology. He knew that he was about to get into some nasty shit, whether or not Gerard was Bert’s painter. Bert didn’t like it when people asked questions about Bert. He even said it like that. _Fuckin’ hate it when people ask questions about Bert,_ said Bert. _ _

__This was such a bad idea._ _

__“You sure that’s a good idea, Frank?” Ryan asked cautiously from behind Frank, from in front of Ray._ _

__“Yeah, Frankie,” Bert breathed. His breath was rancid and the nicotine was actually a relief to smell beneath that stench of putrid carbon dioxide, and Frank almost cringed. “You sure this is a good idea? Because I just took something that feels really nice for me, but I can promise that it won’t feel very nice for you. You see, I’m feeling a little, well…” Bert giggled and whispered, “unpredictable.”_ _

__Frank flinched, but stood his ground, because Gerard._ _

__“Who’s the painter?”_ _

__Bert became a statue. A statue with the scariest smile he’d ever seen._ _

__“… You know,” Bert murmured, finally taking a step back. “Usually, when I’m met with such insubordination, I take care of the source. But you see Frankie? I like you. I like your face and what you do and what you could do if you’d just get your shit together and stop asking so many damn questions. But I like you. And I like your face.” Bert was swinging his legs as he rounded Frank, standing beside Ray. “I like your face a lot, Frankie. And I like what you can do for me. I’ve just got to put out this little candle in your head before the whole damn places catches on fire, literature and all. But you gotta remember, Frankie—I like your face.”_ _

__Bert sighed, then reached up and took his cigarette from between his lips. He dropped it to the ground and stomped it out._ _

__Then his arm snapped out and his hand wrapped around Ryan’s neck like a vice. Frank lurched forward, completely intending on gnawing Bert’s fucking arm up, but the hand tightened and Ryan let out this noise that was twenty percent confusion and eight hundred percent awful._ _

__“Bert, no!” Ray shouted, also moving forward on his toes, eyes alight with anger._ _

__“I don’t like Ryan’s face all that much!” Bert cackled. “I don’t mind breaking his fucking jaw!”_ _

__Ryan’s hands shot up, nails digging into the leather of Berts’ arms uselessly, while Frank threw caution to the wind and hell in the bag, flicking out his knife and holding it at the ready._ _

__“Let go of Ryan before I fucking gut you!” Frank snarled._ _

__Bert laughed and looked to Ryan like he was going to share a joke, but Ryan’s fist connected with Bert’s cheeks, and the hands weren’t around Ryan’s neck anymore, so that was a fucking relief, but god, no, _Ryan had hit Bert.__ _

__“Jesus Christ,” Billie J said like the words had been punched out of him. Ray was already at Ryan’s side, looking like he wanted to check the bandages and make sure there wasn’t any sort of problem with the healing stitches._ _

__Ryan gasped for breath, determination in his eyes. Frank knew that Ryan would never apologize for fighting back, even against Bert. And that was probably going to get him killed._ _

__But Bert was still laughing._ _

__“And I used to think you were useless!” Bert exclaimed, wearing the face of a psychopath. Bert's hands that were once trying to fucking kill Ryan were now caressing Bert's face, where a bruise was probably going to form on his cheek and up along his eye. Frank stared at the damage and saw that a blood vessel had burst in Bert’s eye. Jesus, Frank had no idea that Ryan could hit like that._ _

__“You’re stellar, Ross,” Bert told him with a wide grin, teeth like razors. “You finally fucking did something.”_ _

__“Don’t fucking touch me,” Ryan gasped. “E-ever again.”_ _

__Frank stared at the bandages around Ryan’s neck and wondered if the marks that would be under the bandages would be the same as the ones around Gerard’s neck. He almost wanted to pull back the bandages and find out._ _

__“I think you can go pretty fucking far in that jacket,” Bert told Frank, still grinning. He reached out with the intentions of touching Ryan, probably on the shoulder or something, but Ryan jerked away. Bert’s expression went flat, and he knew more damage had been done with that simple gesture than when Ryan had punched him._ _

__“Gonna flake out on me, Ross?” Bert asked aggressively. “You had a chance to razz my berries, but now I’m just pissed.”_ _

__“I don’t want to s-start a fucking fight with you,” Ryan choked out. His voice was raspy and breaking at the edge like he was fourteen again. “So don’t f-f-fucking touch me again. Do you hear me? Don’t touch me.”_ _

__Bert rolled his eyes. “Put an egg in your shoe and beat it, Ross. I’m done with this. And Frankie? Whatever the fuck you you wanted to ask me? You should probably swallow that down and pretend it never even held the lighter to the curtains.”_ _

__Frank didn’t understand what the meant. But he nodded anyways and shot forward, taking Ryan by the hand and pulling him as far away from Bert as he could fucking get him._ _

__. . ._ _

__Ryan ducked out on school with Ray, so Frank ditched by default._ _

__He left a note at the spot that he and Gerard were supposed to have met and worked on the project, back behind the school, where they’d first shared a smoke._ _

___bert choked out ryan— had to help_ _ _

__It was half assed and mediocre, and Frank knew that he owed Gerard a much better explanation the next day, but Frank was worried for the breakdown that Ryan was surely going to have later. He had to be there._ _

__. . ._ _

__Ryan’s hands were shaking, and he was absolutely furious. At Frank._ _

__“I fucking warned you!” Ryan snapped. “But you kept pushing! Kept fucking pushing, what the fuck, Frank?! What did you think was gonna happen?! Did you think he was just gonna laugh it off and call you buddy and say fuck all?! No, Frank, no he fucking wouldn’t, and I know you knew that! Bert’s one of the most violent, erratic people in the fucking world, and you deliberately tried to meddle in his head like some fucking dumb ass and nearly got me killed!”_ _

__“I’m sorry,” Frank grumbled, arms over his chest. Ray was standing to the side, the first aid kit held uselessly in his hands since Ryan hadn’t calmed down enough for him to check out the stitches yet. Frank was tempted to just shove Ryan onto themed and let Ray do his thing, because Ray didn’t have to be putting up with their shit like this, probably should be at school instead of listening to people screaming at each other like this. Ray looked like he wanted to run away from the yelling like Ryan usually did. It was probably because whenever Ryan yelled, it was like Hell itself trembled in fear. Frank knew Ryan didn’t yell, Ryan never fucking yelled, so right now? Frank was more scared of Ryan than he was of Bert._ _

__But like fuck was he going to show it._ _

__“Dammit, Ry, I’m sorry I fucked up, but what the hell was I supposed to do? I need to find out who the painter actually is, you don’t fucking—“_ _

__“The painter?!” Ryan interrupted, fucking furious. He probably hadn't heard Frank ask the original question back there. “This is about the painter?! It’s Gerard, Frank! There’s no one else it could be! You don’t talk to anyone but people in leather jackets and that’s it! You don’t have a girl on your arm, don’t have anyone but us and then that artist! It’s Gerard because that’s the only person Bert would ever threaten you over!”_ _

__“If it’s Gerard, then I have to know why,” Frank huffed, shoulders hunched to his ears. He really didn’t like how right Ryan was right now. “Why the hell would Bert bet up Gerard like this? It makes no sense, but Gerard comes to school, bloody and broken and bruised to fucking hell, and I wanna know how to make it stop.”_ _

__“Why the fuck does it even matter?” Ryan demanded. “He’s just some guy helping you pass!”_ _

__“I didn’t know you were friends with Gerard,” Ray interrupted, voice wavering. Frank’s head snapped to him, wondering why it was suddenly significant if Frank knew him. Ray just looked like he was speaking up to get them to stop fighting. Frank really couldn’t blame him._ _

__“Do you know him?” Frank asked, taking pity on Ray’s attempt at changing the subject._ _

__Ray nodded, looking distinctly relieved. “He and I take classes together all the time. We trade comic books and I sometimes help him carry canvas home if it’s too big for him.”_ _

__Frank was surprised._ _

__“That’s real big of you,” Ryan drawled, shaking his head. “That doesn’t help explain why Frank is suddenly so obsessed with him! Frank, you’ve never fucking shown interest in him before. How the hell did you even meet?”_ _

__“At the hospital,” Frank mumbled._ _

__“Why was he at the hospital?” Ray asked worriedly._ _

__“You’ve seen the bruises, right?” Frank asked instead of responding. “You know they’re there. Any idea why they’re there?”_ _

__Ray shrugged. “I thought, uh…” His cheeks turned faintly red. “Well… I mean, I always thought they were there cause it was, you know… for personal stuff.”_ _

__“What?” Ryan asked._ _

__“Sex,” Frank translated._ _

__Ray cleared his throat and nodded, scratching his cheek. "Anyways, I’d always hung out with his kid brother more, though I've known Gee longer.”_ _

__“Brother?” Frank repeated, intrigued. He’d only heard about Gerard’s brother once. “Who is he? Does he go to this school? Or did his parents split? Is the guy still around? What’s his name?”_ _

__Ray laughed and held his hands in the air in a gesture to implore Frank to slow down. “I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say, cause Gee has always been kinda weird when it comes to the kid, but his name is Michael, though we always called him Mikey. He liked comic books like Gee does, and was really, really smart, so they sent him to California, to a special school.” Ray’s smile had become something sadder, like he missed the guy, or, at least, missed something._ _

__Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Artist boys with genius brothers and unknown bruises? Sounds like some bad romance novel.”_ _

__“Shut up, Ryan,” Frank huffed. “I just wanna know more about this guy, jesus. He’s a cool dude. He’s my friend.”_ _

__Ryan sat back on the bed with a scowl, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else._ _

__“Let me check out your neck,” Ray implored gently, going onto the bed on his knees. “Bert could’ve really agitated the wounds. Let me make sure it’s not messed up or something? I don’t want it to get infected.”_ _

__Ryan sighed, but tilted his head to the side and let Ray undo the bandages._ _

__“Should I get Brendon?” Frank asked thoughtlessly. Ryan narrowed his eyes at Frank, but Ray grinned._ _

__“Yeah, Ry, need your boyfriend?”_ _

__Ryan and Frank both went still as stone._ _

__Ray seemed to notice, he had to have noticed, especially with how he was so close to Ryan’s fucking body. Ray looked up at Ryan, then looked to Frank, with a slightly confused expression. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked, and at first, Frank was relieved, because Ray had probably only meant be teasing, but then— “did you two break up?”_ _

__Ryan looked terrified, and Frank kinda was too, and then Ryan was out trying to get out of the room, but Ray stood and waved his hands in the air in an abortive manner._ _

__“Ryan, Ryan, it’s fine!” Ray rushed to say. “I just, I saw you and that boy at the park, only a couple nights ago, no one else knows! It’s totally…” Ray faltered. “O-oh shit, did Frank not know? I’m so sorry. I, I thought that he, of all people…”_ _

__“You can’t fucking tell anyone,” Ryan choked out._ _

__“Of course not,” Ray agreed softly. “I wouldn’t even think of it.”_ _

__Ryan shuddered and looked infinitely relived, while Frank wondered when things started to get so wild in his life._ _

__“Makes you wonder who your real friends are,” Ray sighed softly. “To be so afraid for the people in your life to know…”_ _

__Ryan didn’t say anything and let Ray continue checking the bandages._ _


	4. "Kerosene Is Nothing but Perfume to Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bert really is fucking insane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [that tumblr yo](http://wellthisisprettyrisque.tumblr.com)
> 
> **Daily Dose of Dialogue Definitions**
> 
> Sides: vinyl records  
> D.A.: (also known as Duck Butt) hairstyle of greasers where hair in back is combed to the middle, then with the end of comb, making a middle part  
> Chili: a good deal  
> Flip: to get very excited  
> Kicks: a fun or good thing (also a fad)  
> Hearts: good teachers  
> Wardens: teachers  
> Hottie: a very fast car  
> In orbit: in the know  
> Gringles: worries

“I never really cared about who people get with,” Ray told Frank later that night, while Ryan was asleep in Ray’s bed, and Frank and Ray were shooting the breeze outside on Ray’s roof. It must be nice to live in an actual house, even if it was still in the middle of the city. Frank had grown used to the smell of the city and the occasional gun shot. Gun shots were actually rather soothing to Frank. They let him know that he was in the right city.

“I just think that people love who they love, you know?” Ray blew smoke into the air and passed the joint. Frank hadn’t had a good toke in ages, so he was relieved to get the drugs in his lungs. “I think it’s dumb to get so caught up in genitalia. I think that if we all just kinda ignored what was under the clothes, we’d be a lot happier. Not enough to end wars and shit, not enough to stop everything bad from happening, but at least we’ve got that one thing out of the way, right? No more hatred against love. No more prejudice towards who we’re with and why. If I wanna be with a dude, I should be able to be with a dude, same as with a girl. I just think that if we stopped focusing on what we’re with and focus on who we’re with instead, we’d be so much happier. So much more relaxed. So much more free to be you and me.”

“Profound,” Frank murmured. “I think that you’re right. Totally right. But none of that is ever gonna change. No one’s ever gonna become that open. We’re doomed to hate people because of who they love and who they fuck and that’s how humanity works. We’re a bunch of assholes who try to find new and improved ways to shove each other into labelled boxes and say that the other person is the one in the wrong, when everyone is wrong and right at the same time.”

“I wish Ryan wasn’t afraid to be with his boyfriend,” Ray sighed.

“I totally heard them have sex,” Frank snorted.

Ray laughed and took the joint. “Really?”

Frank nodded. “Ryan jacked him off on the floor of my bedroom. The little fucker kept pushing him to do it, no matter how many times Ryan said no.” Frank paused. “… I don’t know if Brendon’s actually any good for Ryan, and it worries me.”

“What makes you say he isn’t?”

“When I found out, I found out by complete accident, like you. I went through the window of Ryan’s room to see him when his dad was away, and caught them naked on Ryan’s bed. And instead of standing next to Ryan and saving face, Brendon fucking ran. He completely abandoned Ryan and ran away like a god damn coward, left Ryan to whatever bad thing Brendon apparently thought was going to happen, and I just think that Ryan doesn’t need people like that in his life, you know? I think that he needs good, supportive people, who are going to look out for him and always be at his side. People like you and me.”

Ray smiled a bit. “You think I’m good for Ryan?”

“Better than anyone else in the jacket,” Frank griped. “Better than me, sometimes. At least you know how to dress a wound. At least you stood up to Bert when he pulled that shit with choking Ry.”

“I yelled at him,” Ray reminded him. “You pulled a knife on him. I’m not sure what merits defending someone in your eyes, but you did pretty well.”

Frank shrugged and reached for the joint, which Ray supplied. “It’s just weird. It’s weird that Ryan’s gay. Not in a bad way, of course, but in a way that’s kinda like… how did I miss this? The fucker has a collection of colored bandanas, but that’s it. He’s not gay, okay? He doesn’t act gay. Not like those people in New York. He doesn’t act like a woman, doesn’t flick his wrist and worry about his outfit. He talks like a normal, straight guy, like you and me. He’s like you and me. But he’s into Brendon, so… does that mean that he isn’t? Like you and me? Is he different? Is he not the Ryan I thought he was? Or has he always been this Ryan, and I’ve just been blind?”

“I don’t think it’s either of those,” Ray told him gently. “I think it’s that Ryan’s always been Ryan, and you’re just discovering a new part of him. It’s not that you’ve been ignoring this side of him, or that you’re obtuse— you just haven’t known this part of him. Like learning a friend’s favorite color, or their middle name, even if you’ve known them for years. I don’t think you’ve been a bad friend, just… you’re still learning things about each other. And that’s a good thing. You never wanna know something entirely, otherwise you get bored.”

Frank frowned. “I don’t want to get bored of him.”

“Then keep learning,” Ray said with a chuckle. “He’s your friend, right? And from what I can tell, all you want is for him to be happy. I don’t think Brendon’s wrong for him, Frank. In fact, I think he’s just what Ryan needs. Someone who can rely on him instead of making Ryan feel like he has to rely on them. I’m not saying he hates relying on you, I’m saying that he likes feeling needed. You and Ryan are partners in crime. Brendon is Ryan’s chance to feel useful and loved in turn.”

“I love him, though,” Frank grumbled, upset to think that Ryan thought he was unloved by Frank. Ray laughed again, though, and shook his head.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about the kind of love where you trust someone with your everything— body, mind, and soul. Ryan knows you love him, knows you’d die for him, but he’s not in love with you, and you’re not in love with him. He needs that romantic love from Brendon, just as you need romantic love from someone else.”

“And I thought I was a big thinker,” Frank sighed, impressed.   
“I don’t think,” Ray hummed. “I just… wait, no, I do think. I think all he time. Especially before I talk. And I think about people. And about my life. Sometimes I think about books I’ve read, or music in my head. I wanna go to the record shop. I haven’t been able to go in weeks because Bert has been so demanding. You should go with me to grab some sides.”

“Ray, hell yes,” Frank said, grinning. “I want a player, my dad has one, but he never shares it.”

“You don’t talk about your family much,” Ray said, as an observation.

Frank shrugged. “I don’t think about them much either.”

“Do you not like them?”

Frank shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just that they’re not a part of my life. I don’t seek them out, and they don’t look for me. I’m dependent from them. Aside from food and shit, of course, but they’re not in my life and they don’t want to be. We’re fine with it. All of us.”

“Just your mom and dad?”

Frank nodded.

Ray smiled wryly. “You know, you and I have known each other for years— at least four of them, right? But I didn’t know anything about you until now.” He sighed and lied back on the tiled roof. “I want a beer. You want a beer?”

Frank’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas and nodded fervently. 

Ray chuckled and crawled back into the room through his window. He was gone for only a minute, crawling back out with two beers in his hands. 

“Does your fro’ ever get stuck in places?” Frank asked randomly. “Like, if the window falls on your hair, would you be stuck? Do you ever get stuck in your shirt? Or have you ever even gotten stuck?”  Ray laughed and shook his head, his hair bouncing around him entrancingly. Sometimes Frank wanted to be a cat, so he could play with random nothings and be praised for being cute instead of ostracized for being a freak.

“My hair has never gotten stuck anywhere but in a comb,” Ray told him. 

“It’s nice that Bert doesn’t require you to style the D.A. You would never be able to get that shit to stay down. You’d wrestle with it every morning and you’d fight valiantly.”

“Gee drew me doing that!” Ray exclaimed, looking excited. “He was over here when we were Freshman, and started playing with my hair, going on and on about it being a pillow and an animal together, which is such a Gee thing to do, so it wasn’t that weird. And then he started drawing on one of the backs of my notebook, on the cardboard? He drew me fighting my hair that looked like tentacles. It was really good! I still have it around here somewhere…”

“You’ve really known Gerard that long?” 

Ray nodded, then shrugged, then nodded more firmly. “Again, I knew Mikey better, I guess. I knew Gee longer cause we were friends in grade school and beyond, but I started to get to know Mikey better, and Gerard was always with Bert. We never drifted, we just existed as good friends while being better friends with other people.”

Frank paused. “… I thought Gerard and Bert weren’t that close.”

Ray visibly hesitated, eyes darting around as he thought. Frank narrowed his eyes, wondering what Ray was trying to work around, what he thought was too sensitive for Frank to know. He hated to think that Gerard had been lying to him.

Ray finally sighed like the air was being torn from his chest. “Look, Frank, there are things that I’m not allowed to tell you that I won’t be telling you, but I will say this— if you’re serious about being friends with Gerard, you’re gonna go through hell before things seem any good. Bert’s a dangerous person to mess with, and knowing Gerard is messing with him, whether you want to start something or not. Bert’s possessive.”

“Are Bert and Gerard friends?” Frank asked firmly, needing to know this.

Ray bit his lip and shook his head. “I, I wouldn’t call it friendship.”

That honestly wasn’t very reassuring.

“This sucks,” Frank groaned, grabbing his beer and popping the cap with the sole of his shoe. He downed half of it quicker than he knew he should, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why does shit have to be so complicated? And why do you guys have to be so mysterious? I don’t even know for sure if Bert’s the one beating Gerard to hell! If they’re friends, why would Bert hurt him?”

“You do realize Bert considers Ryan a friend, right?” Ray smiled wryly. “And he just tried to choke Ryan to death today.”

“Bert’s fucked up,” Frank snapped. “And I… I fucking hate him, Ray. I hate that asshole. I shouldn’t be scared of the person who’s supposed to be my leader or whatever. He’s supposed to fucking lead me to success or whatever bullshit they have in the books these days! Not lead me to actually fear and hate him.”

“It’s really hard to hate people,” Ray told him with a concerned expression. Ray also took a swig from his beer, though he was a lot more controlled about it. Ray looked like he’d been drinking for years. Frank had also been drinking for years, not habitually, but through association, yet he never looked as cool as Ray did while nursing the bottle in his hand and acting like it wasn’t big deal. Frank knew he had a lot to learn from cool and collected Ray Toro. “I don’t think you should say you hate anyone, really.”

“Ray, he just tried to choke out Ryan,” Frank reminded him. “You fucking said it, too. There’s not much to like about this guy when he’s trying to get all of us killed. All he does is start fights and put us in danger, and then turn around and be the fucking danger himself. How can you defend him after what he’s done?”

“I’m not trying to defend him,” Ray told Frank softly. “I’m trying to persuade you to not do something stupid through gentle suggestions. You can’t start fights like Bert does. Bert does that, yeah, but you hate him for it. You don’t want to stoop to his level, do you? Why not just keep your head down for a little and work on getting to know Gerard? I think that’s pretty chili.”

Frank rolled his eyes a bit. “I guess.”

Ray grinned and finished his beer. “I’m gonna go to bed. You should head in too. Tomorrow’s Friday, so nothing’s that important, but…” Ray shrugged. “I think you and Gee had plans, right? So maybe you should fix those.”

Frank winced. “Fuck, left him some shitty note and that’s it. Poor kid probably thinks shit went down worse than it did.” He looked up at the stars, wondering how he was going to fix this. Ray rested his palm on Frank’s shoulder, a comforting weight in a gesture that Frank was a little surprised to be given. 

“Good luck, Frankie,” Ray hummed, climbing back into his room.

Frank stayed out longer and wondered if he should even bother with solving the mystery of Gerard.

. . .

Frank kept his metaphorical head down the next morning, avoiding Bert entirely, thanking something or someone that Bert was a dropout. Bert didn’t call a meeting or anything, which was good. Ryan wouldn’t have gone, and probably not Ray, either, and that amount of no-shows would really piss Bert off. But Frank knew there wasn’t anything to attend, because Davey caught up with him before class and shared a sandwich with him, saying that Ryan was kinda a badass now among the rest of the Bloodsuckers. 

Frank thought that was kinda funny. He knew a lot of people saw Ryan as this twig of a guy who’d seen shit like a veteran from the war, but had spent all of his time in the trenches and was a survivor by cowardice. Frank also knew this was bullshit. Ryan was pretty damn hardcore with his left hook and fierce loyalty and the fact that he could take any amount of punches and still come back up, teeth snapping. Frank could see the world cowering in fear if it crossed Ryan on the wrong side of the street. Frank knew that the Bloodsuckers and everyone else in the world should have been a lot more intimidated by Ryan than it had been. The dude had a fucking knife, right? And an abusive dad that he totally defeated. Ryan was a total badass who should take boxing and then take on the world and show this whole fucking planet who was boss. Frank would be his manager, and they would rule the world. 

Brendon would be there too. He’d be Ryan’s bitch.

. . .

“So, uh, I got your note,” Gerard told him after school that same day. It was good to know that Gerard was smart enough to assume that their idea hadn’t been cancelled, just postponed. It was also good to know that Gerard didn’t hold a grudge in so much that he would completely ignore Frank. “I guess I should ask if Ryan’s okay?”

“I’m sure Bert told you all about it,” Frank said before he could sew his mouth shut, because he said some dumb shit sometimes. Most of the time. Almost all of the time. Frank usually didn’t say smart shit. He almost always thought smart shit, but never said it.

Gerard looked a bit concerned, but not enough to set off the same alarms Ray had set off last night. Frank sighed and ducked his head. “I’m sorry,” he apologized begrudgingly. “I just say things, sometimes. Totally didn’t mean it.”

“You wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t on your mind,” Gerard said softly.

Frank just shrugged.

Gerard bit is lip. “Are, are you till gonna come over?”

“Does the offer still stand?”  Gerard nodded, hiding behind his hair.

Frank stood from his desk and took out his due backs. He offered Gerard a fag, which Gerard accepted, and they walked to Gerard’s home in continuous silence.

. . .

“Okay, so, you can sit on the bed,” Gerard said, directing Frank to what had to be the only decently clean spot of Gerard’s entire room. And room was a loose term, because it was actually the basement of the house, where the washing machine and dryer were kept. No one was doing any laundry, but Frank could only imagine how loud it could get in here. He wedged himself onto the bed, between towels and clothes and art supplies, and wondered how Gerard slept on the bed, that was just two mattress sitting atop each other on the concrete floor.. Then he saw the couch across the room that had a blanket thrown over it, and realized Gerard didn’t even sleep on the bed in the first place.

Gerard was getting out a piece of paper that was about two feet across on both sides. Frank wondered if it was super special paper for a super special project. The idea made him grin a little, and Gerard looked to him curiously.   “What’s so funny?”

Frank shrugged. “You’re so professional about this. It’s kinda cool.” He went back to look around the room, to the movie posters stolen from cinemas and anti-nazi propaganda stolen from walls. He then noticed the acoustic guitar underneath a pair of boxers and a sweater, and his eyes went wide. “You gotta let me play that baby,” he told Gerard, knowing he was three seconds from insisting with less subtlety than he was already using. Gerard glanced to where he was snorting, then chuckled.

“Go for it,” he told Frank as he got out pens that varied in sizes Frank wasn’t aware of existing. He couldn’t believe there were so many details involved in art that weren’t actually part of the artistic details. Frank shot forward and nearly tripped over a robe that was made from burlap, then snatched up the guitar and held it reverently. It was six string-ed, basic yet beautiful. He tested the sounding realized that, aside from being horribly out of tune, there wasn’t much wrong. The strings were strong, the wood was aged and well-sanded, and the guitar was all the right colors in all the right places. Frank just blew off the dust, went back to the bed, and started to play.

He and Ryan had taught each other how to play guitar when they were in third grade, after Frank had stolen a really bad guitar from Mr. Reynolds mandatory music class. Teaching each other to play, though, had mostly consisted of fumbling through chords until Ryan showed him how to do it, or Frank figured it out on his own and showed Ryan. They had a sort of symbiotic relationship when it came to learning just about anything, something Frank really appreciated and yearned for another relationships. He saw learning as kinda pointless if you couldn’t use it to aid someone you cared about. Why become a doctor if you couldn’t save your brother’s life?

Now, Frank was pretty fucking good at playing. His fingers moved up and down the fret board with ease and skill, knowing the exact pressure needed to get the perfect sound, though the strings of Gerard’s guitar were stiff from misuse.

“I never play that old thing,” Gerard told him as he set up a little spot on the ground to lie down the paper, clearing away comics and pulp fiction magazines. “I used to, back when my brother was around, and I was shit at it. Couldn’t get my fingers to obey me half the time, and the other half, I just didn’t know what to play. My brother was the only one who ever asked my to play, so when he was gone, so was the drive.”

“You should play for me,” Frank declared with a nod. “I wanna hear those sweet chords coming from your jazzin’ fingers.”

Gerard snickered and shook his head. “I’d rather not make your eardrums implode.”

“Do you want me to ramble aimlessly, or…”

Gerard shrugged. “I’m working on a sketch. I think we’re gonna draw a face. But, like, not in your normal way, okay? It’s gonna be dark, too, cause I feel like you’re an edgy guy who needs to be feared.” Gerard’s voice had taken on a booming quality, like some wizard or giant. Honestly, Frank was ready to flip. He was pretty pumped for this to happen. After what had happened with Bert, how Ryan had had a meltdown on Frank and Frank had had his heart-to-heart with Ray, Frank was ready for some kicks. He needed a break, a moment to relax, and he was pretty sure that just yucking it up with Gerard would be a good way to do that.

“You don’t have any mush, right?” Gerard asked. “Nothing I”m keeping you from?”

Frank shook his head. “I’ve got some hearts among the wardens. Most of them are good enough to not give mush on the weekends. I’ve got to help Billie J turn his ride into a hottie later Sunday, but that’s it.”

“You have the whole weekend?” Gerard asked almost excitedly, like this was good news. “Fuck, Frankie, you should stay the night, then. My mom makes a mean bean casserole, and she loves it when I bring new people over. She likes to be in orbit when it comes to my social life and stuff.”

Frank snorted. “She seems like a nice lady. But really, Gee? Parents on the first date? You’re moving a bit fast.”

Gerard looked mildly alarmed, meaning he hadn’t caught on to Frank’s teasing.. “I mean, you don’t have to. I was just trying to be nice. I thought you’d be hungry and stuff, but if you’re really uncomfortable with staying over for dinner a-and the night, then that’s totally okay. I understand. I just wanted to—”

“You’re like a puppy when you’re embarrassed,” Frank observed with a smirk. “Fumbling to fix whatever you think you did wrong. Which you haven’t done, by the way. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m fucking starving.”

Gerard looked infinitely relieved. 

“So what should I talk about?” Frank asked.

“Anything,” Gerard said. “Anything you want. Just let me know your head as well as you do. Nothing like, scary, okay? Or intimate. But I just gotta make this convincing. I don’t want anyone realizing that this wasn’t made by you. That would really suck! You’d get in so much trouble for cheating, and you probably wouldn’t be allowed to graduate!”

Frank suddenly felt nervous. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“Better idea than that jacket,” Gerard said flippantly.

Frank inwardly agreed.

“You gotta talk back, though,” Frank argued. “I can’t just be shooting the breeze. I gotta have someone to converse with, otherwise I’ll just shut up.”

Gerard nodded. “What’s your thought on the moon?”  Frank snorted. “The moon? That’s it? What do I think about the moon?” He wondered where that came from, and looked up, at the ceiling. Then he saw Gerard had painted a moon up there. Frank’s jaw fell open in soft awe when he realized that Gerard had painted his whole ceiling to look like the night sky through a telescope, with planets and galaxies and ships that flew around, along with monsters that Frank couldn’t describe. He took in the intricate details and wondered how long it had taken Gerard to finish this homage to the vast nothingness above them.

“They wanna send people up there,” Gerard told Frank almost reverently. “I’ve always wanted to go. But I’ve never been smart enough for that sort of thing, so I made that. So I could feel like maybe I was already there.”

“Holy shit, Gee,” Frank breathed, blown away by the amount of detail. 

“I’ve always liked the idea of aliens,” Gerard added. “It would suck to be alone in the universe.”

“Aliens are cool,” Frank assented. “But monsters are so much fucking cooler. What’s that?” He pointed to a large creature flying past Saturn with tentacles around its face. 

“Ever read anything by H. P. Lovecraft?” Gerard asked. “He’s in some of my pulp fiction magazines. He’s amazing, Frankie, so you should definitely read some shit by him. Anyways, that’s Cthulhu— the monster was originally summoned by a cult in the jungle, through sacrificing women and children. It actually comes from the ocean, but I thought that Cthulhu would be a better monster in space. He could destroy planets, Frankie. I think he would be amazing up there.”

“You think a monster would be better suited for a certain place?” Frank hadn’t really thought so abstractly about aliens and monsters before. He didn’t often think about aliens and monsters beyond the books he already knew. Frank had always considered himself a connoisseur of everything monster related, but it seemed like Gerard would be able to out do Frank, which wasn’t nearly as upsetting as Frank had thought it would be. He was totally okay with Gerard knowing more than him when it came to monsters. Gerard didn’t seem like the type of guy to rub that in Frank’s face, or lord his superiority over him.

Gerard spent a moment longer staring up at the ceiling. “… What keeps you up at night?”

Frank paused, thinking. “… How I roped Ryan into the jacket. That keeps me up. And how he got shot. That’s a more recent one, but it bothers me all the same. Ryan nearly getting killed by Bert, too. Him getting choked out. That keeps me up.”

“You take way too much responsibility for him,” Gerard told Frank as he finally bent over the canvas, beginning to sketch. “He’s just as responsible for what’s happened to him as you are responsible for what happens to you.”

“I’m the one who got him in the jacket,” Frank told him.

“He could have said no,” Gerard replied. “Like I did.”

Frank’s brow show up in surprise. “You were gonna be a Bloodsucker?”

Gerard chuckled, though it sounded a little self-deprecating. “The name was actually my idea.”

Frank was gaping in delighted surprise. “Dude, I would’ve known you so much sooner!” He would have been able to stop the bruises from appearing much sooner. “We could’ve ran this fucking gang together! Could have ruled this fucking school like it was our bitch!”

“Could have kept you from putting on the jacket,” Gerard agreed gently. “And Ryan. Could have kept both of you from this. So what happens to you and Ryan is my fault if we go by your same logic.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Gee,” Frank scoffed.

Gerard just raised a critical brow at Frank, a smile teasing his lips. Frank realized his blunder and scoffed, flipping a strand of hair that had fallen from his ‘do and landed across his face. “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you’re right,” he said haughtily.

“You need to keep talking,” Gerard said. His strokes across the canvas were long and wild, like he wasn’t really trying to be particular or entirely accurate. Frank could literally watch the way Gerard’s ideas began to form on the paper. He wished he could go and sit on the floor beside Gerard, really get up close and personal and see all the detail that would soon exist, but there was no room on the floor.

“Talk about what?” he asked.

“Talk about anything,” Gerard prodded. “Like, uh… what’s bothering you? If anything. Is something upsetting you? School? Friends? Something or someone aside from Bert?”

Frank shrugged. He moved some things aside on the bed, then sat back fully against the wall. “… I learned something new about my friend the other day. Something really big. Huge, actually. It’s super important and a huge part of this person and I’ve known them for ages, but I never knew this one particular thing about him. And I, uh… I kinda feel like a shitty friend. For not knowing.”

“Did you know to know?”

Frank frowned. “What?’

Gerard looked up from the canvas, his bottom lip between his tiny teeth. “Did you know to know?” he asked again.

“I have no idea what that means.”  Gerard released his lower lip, soothing the skin with his pink tongue that darted out to wet said lips. Frank watched it curiously. “I’m asking you if you knew to know. Like, was it something that was obvious and in the open. Did other people know this about him? Was it something that was displayed, or was it hidden? Did he hide this part of himself from you? Cause if he was hiding it, then you aren’t to blame. I’m not sure why this friend of yours would hide himself, though. You two seem pretty close.”

“You don’t even know who I’m talking about,” Frank argued.

“You have about four friends that I’ve heard of, and only one is someone you’ve known for years.” Gerard smiled wryly. “I know who it is, Frankie. No gringles, yeah? I don’t know what he hid, but I won’t tell anyone I know who it is.”

“You haven’t said their name yet,” Frank defended.

“Ryan,” Gerard deadpanned, drawing again. “This is about Ryan.”

Frank grimaced. “It’s just,” he continued, exasperated. “I’ve known that kid my whole fucking life, but there was always this one, huge part of him that I never knew and I wouldn’t have known unless I actually fucking caught him, and it… kinda upsets me. I feel like a shitty friend to begin with, but then I wonder… Why didn’t he feel like he could tell me? Did he not trust me? Is he actually afraid of me? When have I ever acted like I would condemn him for him being? Why didn’t he fucking trust me? Does he even true me at all?” Frank sighed and looked back up to the ceiling, finding an odd comfort in the faux vast nothingness. “I just… am worried. That I’m not the friend to him that I thought I was. And that I’ll get left behind for someone who actually is. Or someone who’s… more.”

Gerard looked back up again, frowning. “Does he have a secret girlfriend?”

“Something like that,” Frank sighed. He wasn’t going to throw Ryan under the bus regardless of how frustrated he was. He didn’t want Ryan to trust him even less. “Fuck, it just hurts to think that he doesn’t trust me. And that makes me a fucking wuss. He’s Ryan, you know? He does weird shit for no reason. I once saw him put ketchup over every single fry so Davey wouldn’t take them from him, even though Ryan doesn’t fucking like ketchup. He just didn’t want Davey to have them. He collects fucking scarves and bandanas, for fuck’s sake! He’s such a weird, but he’s my weirdo, and you know, maybe I’m scared I won’t be able to say that anymore. Maybe he’ll be someone else’s weirdo. I don’t like that, Gee. I don’t want to lose who I am to him.”

“You won’t,” Gerard assured him confidently. “You’ve known each other so long. You share a profound bond. Stuff from comic books and novels. Have you read Lord of the Ringers? It’s from only twenty years ago, do you know it?”

Frank shrugged. “I mean, maybe.” He probably had heard of it. Maybe had read it. “Tolkish, right?” He thought that was the name.

“Tolkien,” Gerard corrected, though his smile said he was pleased that Frank had even been able to guess at the name. “He has this amazing story written across all these pages, and god…” Gerard scrambled to his feet and ran to a pile of books, one of eight stacks, and wedged out a worn looking book from under the others. He sat back down on his spot on the floor, tossing the book onto the bed beside Frank. 

“That’s the first one,” he told Frank. “The Fellowship of the Ring. And in it, there are these two friends— Frodo and Sam. And they’ve known each other for years, because Sam was Frodo’s gardener? Not his gardener, but his uncle’s, but Frodo lived with his uncle, so Sam’s technically his gardener. But they’re also friends, and they’ve been friends forever, and when Frodo goes off on this mission to destroy an evil weapon, Sam goes with him. He follows Frodo across their known world on a suicide mission, and does it gladly, doesn’t hesitate to be at Frodo’s side, always helps him and never betrays him or suggests that should Frodo give up. And that’s like you and Ryan. You’d follow each other across the world, right? You would if you had to.”

Frank nodded, looking over the book in his hands. He opened the cover and saw it was signed by the author, then smiled a little. “I thought this guy wasn’t from here? From Europe?”  “The UK,” Gerard corrected. “My grandfather brought that back from the war. When he died, it went to my grandmother, and when she died, it went to me.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Frank said almost automatically. Everyone had lost someone. No one was untouched by the war, even if they died after fighting the good fight. Frank had lost two uncles to the Japanese. “… Which one of the two was more of a bitch?”

“From the Fellowship? Frodo.” Gerard giggled a bit. “Definitely Frodo.”

“Ryan’s Frodo,” Frank snickered. “He’s the little bitch.”

“He can’t even defend himself, you dick,” Gerard laughed.

“Like I give a fuck!” Frank cackled.

Gerard was still drawing, scratching the pencil along the canvas. Frank really wanted to lean over and catch a glimpse, or as Gerard how it was going, what the subject was, what Gerard intended to create. He’d always been fascinated by creative people because he wished he could be creative, too. Frank wanted to be a creator, but he knew it wouldn’t fly. He’d repressed himself enough, knowing it was a bad idea to spread his wings in a leather jacket. Frank wondered if he could have painted a ceiling like Gerard’s if he’d just let himself pick up the brush when he was younger.

“I think…” Gerard trailed off, biting his lip again, something that was unbearably endearing to Frank at this point. “I think this is good enough for today.”

“Can I see it?” Frank asked, not bothering to hide his excitement. He started to crawl forward on the bed.

Gerard, though, pulled the canvas to his chest and shook his head, grinning. “When it’s done. Come over again soon though, okay? I gotta actually fill this in.”

“Is it an adequate representation of my psyche?” Frank asked jokingly. 

Gerard hummed appraisingly, his tongue poking out from between his lips in thought as he nodded. “I believe so. I only hope that it meets your standards, Iero.”

Frank laughed and shook his head. “So— what else happens in the Tolkien book?”

. . .

Frank liked Gerard.

He really liked Gerard.

He liked talking with him and being around him. He liked hearing about the things that Gerard liked to think about.

Frank had stayed over for dinner, then the night, and he and Gerard hadn’t done anything more than absolutely nothing. Gerard talked about the implications of color TV, about the uses of remote electrical signals, about the importance of static and color, how you can’t have black and white without a rainbow because one can’t be defined without being the opposite of the other.

Frank could lie in Gerard’s bed and listen to him for hours. He really wanted to. He wanted to bring Ryan with him next time too, because he knew Ryan loved to talk about this sort of stuff. Frank always said he was a big thinker, but really, he was drawn to bigger thinkers. He was drawn to people who could not only form complex thoughts, but verbalize them. Frank could imagine all the crazy shit in the world, but he could never explain it to someone else, so he just kept it inside and listened to the idiots talk about people rather than ideas.

But Gerard wasn’t like that.

Gerard was someone special.

And Frank realized, tangled up in Gerard’s sheets, staring up at Cthulhu and listening to Gerard talk about the concept of horror itself, that he would fight Bert if Gerard really was Bert’s painter. It wasn’t like Bert could actually own anyone, let alone Gerard, who was miles above all of them, up there in the stars with the aliens and monsters that Frank wanted to believe in, so Gerard would let him tag along on Gee’s adventures in his head. Frank would fight Bert tooth and nail to keep on being a presence in this fucker’s life, Frank swore he would.

After all, Gerard deserved to not get the shit beaten out of him.

It was hard for Frank to like people, really. It was hard for him to connect with someone and actually imagine himself still connecting with them years later. It wasn’t like he was broken or detached or psychologically disturbed to the point where couldn’t form lasting relationships; he just didn’t like people. He didn’t like them at all. He liked Ryan and Ray and… and that was about it. He just didn’t like people. 

He kinda hated people. He hated the wars they started and the way no one could duck their head and just take one for the team. He hated that some people were so cruel that they had to massacre millions of lives just to feel vindicated about an idea or decision or the fucking clothes on their back. 

He hated the complete absence of loyalty he saw, and hated how easily people threw their friends aside for lipstick and lunch boxes. He hated how kids would trade lovers like they were baseball cards, flippant and detached and a testament to the broken world of love that he lived in. He understood that you could fall out of love, but he knew that no one ever left a relationship unscathed, and he didn’t think it was fair to start something you never intended on finishing. He couldn’t imagine making a friend or choosing a lover that he never intended to keep. He couldn’t imagine playing with someone’s heart, knowingly making them love you, and then planning to leave them.

Frank wasn’t like that, and he hoped he never would be. He loved too deeply, which was why he avoided loving at all. When he met someone he knew he could trust, he dedicated his everything to that person. He had already dedicated everything to Ryan, he could do that with Ray. Maybe some of the other boys, but again, loyalty was scarce among everyone. Still, Frank knew that if he got into a fight, the Bloodsuckers would have his back, and that did count for something. Frank just kept his true circle of trust as small as possible. One person always, maybe two— and know Frank was considering a third. 

Frank valued his friends above everything, would take a bullet for them, and he knew he’d do the same for Gerard, at this point. He had never had anyone really listen to him like Gerard had prodded him to. Granted, Ryan did listen, but he never asked for more. Maybe he felt like he didn’t need to? Frank wasn’t sure. He just knew that Gerard was special, so he was going to treat Gerard as such.

. . .

Ryan showed up at Frank’s house in the middle of the next night, Saturday night, knocking on the door like he didn’t give a shit that it was nearly the next day.

Frank answered with a pissed expression, because his family was totally going to bitch at him tomorrow morning for keeping them awake. He knew his dad especially was going to bitch at him. He had to get up early and work at the factory at five in the fucking A.M. Frank knew that he was going to get in so much trouble. Frank always thought it was dumb that factory workers had to work weekends.

Frank trudged to the front door and tried to be quiet. He was so grateful tomorrow was Sunday and that he was no longer expected to attend mass. Frank wasn’t into that religion shit, and his parents didn’t care enough to force their values on him. Sometimes Frank went anyways, just because they’d grab burgers at the diner afterwards for lunch, but that was only on the days that Frank needed to get shit in his belly, and get it in there fast. Granted, he’d have to muddle through the service, but it was so worth it to get a shake in his belly and those french fries on his tongue. 

Frank’s mouth watered at the thought, and he decided that, fuck it, he was going church tomorrow to get in on that diner dining. 

He pulled the front door open, knowing already that it was Ryan because Ryan was the only person who was rude enough to knock on the door after midnight.

Ryan was just standing there, arms limp and something very wrong in his eyes.

“Bert just killed two boys,” Ryan told Frank in a low voice, sounding tortured and tired.

Frank stared back and couldn’t speak.

“They’re two boys that were caught together under the bleachers,” Ryan continued hollowly. “Gabriel and Bill were the names, I think. They’re not even from our school, Frankie, but he hit one with a car and beat the other’s head in with a bat. Because they’re gay. He went to their fucking homes, or on home? I don’t fucking know, Frank, but he went out there and sought them out and fucking killed them because they got caught necking under the bleachers. He hit them with a car and beat their heads in and no one’s gonna catch him because no one saw it and he’s never even fucking met them before. He just heard about them, said that they were disgusting, a-and fucking killed them.”

Frank blinked sluggishly and then realized Ryan was crying.

“I’m so fucking scared,” Ryan whispered.


	5. Let’s Pretend the Dead Can still Feel More than Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard actually makes the first move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the lovely [cemeterydrivethru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cemeterydrivethru) for actually muddling through the typos and not lynching me
> 
>  
> 
> [that tumblr yo](http://wellthisisprettyrisque.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  **Daily Dose of Dialogue Definitions**  
>  Get bent: disparaging remark as in “drop dead”  
> Earthbound: reliable  
> Going Ape: to explode or be really mad  
> Salty: angry  
> Shoot low, they’re riding Shetlands: “be careful” (guys can we start using this again like please)  
> Skinny: broke, without money  
> Far out: ahead of the times  
> Running lights: eyes  
> Sewer: someone who is incapable of keeping a secret  
> Boss: great

Frank pulled Ryan into his room and made him stay the night. Church wasn’t going to happen— nothing was going to happen. Ryan curled up under the shitty, ratty covers and shook, though Frank could tell it was from more than just fear. Ryan got angry when he saw people unjustly hurt, so he knew that Ryan would blow up at Bert, and he knew that was a terrible idea. If Ryan chewed Bert out for what he’d done, Bert would figure out that Ryan was gay too. And that would spell death for both of them, because there was no way in hell that Frank would let Ryan go to hell without being at his side. 

But jesus…

What the hell was wrong with Bert? What the hell made him that much of a fucking psycho? What was he doing? What was he thinking? Had he even been thinking at all? Frank knew Bert was crazy, of course he knew Bert was crazy, every fucking knew that Bert was crazy, but this? This was too much. This was beyond anything Frank could have ever imagined.

Killing someone was something… despicable. Utterly deplorable. Frank didn’t have words for how much the very idea disgusted him. Frank couldn’t understand the need to kill anyone, even a fucking horrible person, and he definitely couldn’t imagine two innocent guys who were in love and nothing more. He couldn’t understand seeing love and translating it into hate. Especially over— over, what? Gender? The sex of the partner? What the fuck, Bert?

Ryan was a mess, a little ball of fear and hatred. Ryan always felt things a lot more fiercely than Frank, so Frank couldn’t imagine the thoughts and emotions running through the poor kid right now. Frank had given him all the blankets in the house and let Ryan make his own little burrowed fort of cotton and fleece. Frank had made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with potato chips stuffed inside. Then he grabbed one of his dad’s beers. Ryan usually didn’t drink, usually avoided that poison like the plague, but Bert had just murdered two gay kids and Frank knew that Ryan was obsessing over the idea of how he could be next. That had to be what Ryan was thinking. This was all so fucking messed up.

“Do you think he’s gonna kill Brendon too?” Ryan asked. “When he finds out? Do you think he’ll kill Brendon with me?”

“What the fuck, Ry?” Frank replied. “Morbid enough for you?”

“I’m serious,” Ryan mumbled. “What if he tries to kill Brendon? Fuck, I-I guess I’m okay with dying? Maybe. I don’t know, Frankie, but I know I’ll do everything in my power to stop him from hurting Brendon. I can’t fucking let him do that to Brendon. Brendon has a future, and hopes, and shit and he’s starting to understand that, so I need to fuck Bert up before he hurts Brendon, even if it kills me.” Ryan poked out of his head out of the nest of blankets he’d burrowed himself in. “Will you help me?”

Frank pursed his lips. “… Yeah,” he relented. “Yeah. I’ll help you fuck him up. If he tries to hurt Brendon. I’ll do the same if he tries to hurt you too, you know.”

Ryan snorted. “I can take care of myself, you shit.”

“I know you can. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna glue myself to your side until we’re out of this place.”

Ryan poked his head out further with that hopeful look that so rarely showed on either of their faces. “We’re gonna leave? Really? I mean, Brendon wants to leave, and we were gonna, but… I don’t think I could’ve left without you. You’re gonna come with? To wherever?”

Frank nodded with a smirk. “You can’t escape me.”

Ryan matched his smirk with a small grin. “So I’m not gonna die?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Frank scoffed. “But, uh… really. I mean, I’m all for you being you, but you’ve gotta use some discrepancy. We can’t let Bert find out, can’t even let him suspect it, so you gotta… You gotta let this go.”

Ryan bristled with something— probably fury— and sat up. “What the fuck?” Ryan demanded. “You’re saying I should forget what he’s done? Let him get away with this? Let him get off scott free and walk away like it’s all fucking okay?! He murdered two boys, Frank! He fucking broke their bodies open!”

“And it’s fucked up, but not that fucked,” Frank sighed. “Not when your life is on the line. We have to forget this happened so he doesn’t go after you next.”

Ryan scowled and sat back, drawing his knees to his chest. “I fucking hate that fucker.”

“It’ll be okay,” Frank promised. 

“We’re getting out of here this summer,” Ryan swore vehemently. He was back under the blankets before Frank had time to agree.

. . .

“Jesus, fuck,” Ray panted as he ran up to meet them at the front of the school building. Frank was surprised he was cursing. “I, I heard about what Bert did. But not to who. I was so scared it was y—“

Ray cut himself off quickly with wide eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I mean… I’m glad you guys are okay,” he said, covering up his blunder quickly. “I’m glad you guys weren’t caught up in whatever happened. Because then the police could have found out, and you two would get in trouble, and—”

“Shut the fuck up, Ray!” Davey snapped. “You’re fucking verbalizing it, jesus christ!”

Everyone was on edge. Frank could see it on everyone’s face. Billie J looked like he was about to crawl out of his body, while Travis was just thrumming with nervous energy and looking like he needed to fight someone to get rid of all the pent up anxiety. Bert wasn’t anywhere to be found, which wasn’t that much of a surprise. Bert also ducked out during the important shit. Frank couldn’t believe how much shit they were in. He prayed no one had seen Bert’s jacket.

“Can’t believe he just killed those two boys,” Billie J said sadly. “I don’t… I can’t believe he did that.”

“You think he was wrong?” Ryan asked almost eagerly, obviously hoping for a kindred spirit on the topic of homophobia. 

“I know he was wrong,” Billie J sighed. “They’re just people. People loving people. There’s no reason to kill anyone just for loving another person.”

“Exactly!” Ryan almost shouted.

“None of that fucking matters,” Davey interrupted harshly. “Don’t let Bert hear you say that. He’ll slit your fucking throats.”

“Or hit you with his car,” Travis murmured. He looked more haunted than angry.

“I didn’t even know he had a car,” Frank pointed out.

“He fucking doesn’t!” Billie J almost shouted. “He doesn’t, you guys! He doesn’t have a fucking car, so whose car did he fucking use?! No one fucking knows! No one’s heard from him since last night!” Billie J threw his hands into the air, looking increasingly upset, which was kinda impressive, because Billie J was already so fucking upset to begin with. “God, we’re all going to jail. We’re all gonna die. We’re gonna get the fucking chair and we’re gonna get fucked by some huge ass dude and god dammit, I can’t be some guy’s bitch.”

Frank found himself laughing manically from the absurdity of what Billie J was saying.

“This isn’t funny, Frank,” Travis mumbled.

“No, no, this is fucking hilarious,” Ryan cut in. “We’re finally seeing the real Bert fucking McCracken. We’re seeing the real monster behind the dick in charge of us. We’re actually seeing him but we’re not gonna do shit about it, are we? We’re just gonna duck our heads, tuck our tails in, and let him do fucking whatever, because we’re just a fucking bunch of losers.”

“We’re not gonna just let this slide,” Ray assured Ryan, though he seemed skeptical. He looked to the rest of the jackets. “… Right?”

“I-I don’t think we have much the choice— or the resources to try— and usurp Bert right now,” Davey said nervously. “He… he kills people, Ray. We’ve always kinda thought he would kill one of us, but it’s never been, like, a serious thing. Now we know, though, and I just… Fuck, guys, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m scared of him.”

“Fucking terrified,” Travis choked out.

“I can’t believe all of you!” Ryan almost shouted. “You’re all fucking talk! None of you ever actually do anything without Bert pulling your fucking strings! What the fuck is wrong with you cowards?”

“He fucking killed two kids, Ryan!” Davey reiterated. “We can’t stand up to that!”

“We’d be six against one!” Ryan actually did shout. “We could fucking kill him! Or just tie him up and turn him in! We can fucking take him, I don’t know why you’re all so fucking scared! He should be scared of us! We’re the one who put him up there!”

“Ryan, keep your voice down,” Davey hissed.

“What the fuck?!” Ryan demanded, absolutely furious. “You fucking monsters, you’re no better than him! Get bent, you fuckers!” Ryan stormed off, looking like he could commit murder too. Frank wanted to go after him, but then he spotted Brendon just a ways away, looking just as worried as Frank felt. Frank sighed and knew Brendon would take care of him. Now Frank just had to cover up all the shit Ryan had said.

“You know how he feels about people,” Frank explained weakly, chuckling. “Sanctity of life and all that shit. He’s just sensitive to violence.”

“No,” Travis sighed. “Ryan’s right. We’re shit. Fucking cowards.”

“We’re not even earthbound anymore,” Billie J agreed with a frown.

“I don’t blame Ryan for going ape like that,” Travis agreed. “We’re just gonna lie down and take it because we’re cowards.”

“Because we need to fucking graduate,” Billie J huffed. “What the fuck was up with Ryan? I haven’t seen him show that much emotion since… Wait, fuck that, I’ve never seen him show that much emotion! Ryan doesn’t _feel_ things, this is total bullshit. Ryan doesn’t know a goddamn thing about emotions, I thought he was some sort of alien robot for all these years!”

“He’s not a fucking robot, J,” Frank snorted “He just hides shit. Doesn’t show shit. He doesn’t like parading things around, prefers to be private and all that fucking jazz.”

“We don’t know him like you,” Billie J defended. 

“Well, you fucking could, if you’d just—”

“This isn’t helping anyone,” Ray cut in. “What are we gonna do?”

“Ryan was pretty fucking salty,” Davey observed, finally breaking out of his hypnotic stupor in favor of analyzing something a little less mind-threatening. “Has he always been so hot about 175s?”

“Don’t say that,” Frank snapped before he could stop himself. When everyone turned to looked at him in obvious curiosity, Ray laughed nervously.

“You know Frankie,” Ray explained. “Them Nazis, right? Hey, guys, why don’t we all just take it easy for now? Go to class, clear our heads, sort this mess out once we don’t have a time crunch. Cool?”

Everyone shrugged or nodded, filing out like zombies.

“Shoot low,” Ray advised to Frank softly once everyone was out of earshot. “They’re riding Shetlands. You gettable more careful about what you let slip, you and Ryan. They could catch on, and then you’d be in real trouble.”

“If anyone tries to hurt Ryan, I’ll fucking eat them,” Frank spat.

“God, you’re gonna get him killed,” Ray lamented.

Frank just turned on his heel and left Ray with a scowl

. . .

Gerard slid into the desk beside Frank with slow, jarring movements, wincing in pain. Frank watched him with obvious something, so fucking keyed up that he was ready to pounce Gerard and force the guy to just tell the truth already. He hated liars. He hated martyrs. He hated people who took pain silently because they fancied themselves Ghandi or some bullshit like that. Frank hated people who refused help when it was offered and so obviously needed. What was the point to living in pain when there were so many other options that would involve the betterment of everyone? It was just plain stupid.

“I heard,” Gerard almost whispered. “Bert told me. What he did.”

Frank watched Gerard’s shaking hands pull a pencil and the sketchbook from his bag. 

“Bert came to my room after he did it,” Gerard continued, sounding ghostly. Frank was a little shocked by how Gerard wasn’t surprised at all by what Bert had done. Frank just assumed that meant that everyone knew what a monster Bert was. Rotten to the core. “He was bragging, Frankie. He was jeering about it. He had blood all over his shirt and face.”

“Are you okay?” Frank asked, because, for some reason, that was the most important thing to him.

Gerard looked to Frank. Hollow fear was naked in his eyes. “Not really,” Gerard confessed.

Frank reached out and grabbed Gerard’s things, stuffing the sketchbook and pencil back into Gerard’s bag and standing from his desk. “We’re going to get floats,” he told Gerard. “I don’t care if you’re skinny or whatever. It’s on me. Fuck this school and fuck Bert.”

“Shouldn’t you be with Ryan?” Gerard asked. Frank didn’t want to know why Gerard thought Frank should be with Ryan. He hated to think he’d given too much away over the weekend.

“Ryan’s fine,” Frank replied flippantly. “He has another friend.”

Gerard seemed to accept that explanation pretty gracefully. He stood, expression full of pain. “Where do you wanna go?”

“The diner,” Frank repeated. “The one on 73rd. It’s got the flying saucer and everything on the side, so I think you’ll like it. It’s got drawings of aliens everywhere, and you can doodle on the napkins and they’ll pin it to their cork board. You’ll be food famous, Gee. Doesn’t that sound like fun? Doesn’t that sound like a far cry better than this dingy joint?”

“I think I’d like a change of scenery,” Gerard admitted with a shy smile. 

“Mint,” Frank replied with a grin.

. . .

“So what will you guys do?” Gerard asked Frank softly over his coke float. The diner called it the Black Visitor, because they used chocolate ice cream on top instead of vanilla. Frank had drank half of it after realizing it was better than Frank’s more conventional root beer float. 

“About what?” Frank asked innocently as he munched on his fries. He was playing dumb. He didn’t want to talk about Bert if he could avoid it. But Frank knew he couldn’t avoid it at all.

“About what Bert did,” Gerard said. “He’s gonna get away with it, you know. He burned the shirt. He never knew the boys, and no one down that side of the city actually knows him. He’d be impossible to recognize, and he’s never been arrested. They don’t even have his prints, let alone a photo. He’s gonna get away with it. Are all the Bloodsuckers okay with it? Do they support what they did? Or are they just…” Gerard trailed off, like he didn’t know what he was about to say, or did know what he wanted to say, and thought better of actually saying it.

“Ryan blew up at them because they’re a bunch of cowards,” Frank informed Gerard, throwing him a bone. “None of them agree. They’re all pretty far out. But they don't’ do shit about it because they’re scared of Bert.”

Gerard grimaced. “I know the feeling,” he said low enough to make Frank strain to have to hear him. And even then, Frank second-guessed what he thought he’d heard. Gerard stirred his float, basically breaking all float rules that Frank and instated with Ryan, but he decided to cut Gerard some slack. Gee obviously wasn’t a seasoned float consumer.

“You’re a really good guy, Frankie,” Gerard told him. “Do you know that? I mean, on the outside, you’re some punk in leather with tattoos and a constantly terrifying expression that just screams, “don’t fucking touch me.” That’s what Bert told me about you, anyways. He said you were cut off and detached and only involved with Ryan, and didn’t give a shit about anyone else.”  Frank snorted. “Wow. I can feel the love.”

Gerard smiled a bit, the first smile he’d worn since Frank had seen him today. “Bert’s not a nice guy. You know that. E-especially now…”

Frank watched Gerard as the other boy slipped back into that dark place of horror that Frank also visited when he thought about what Bert had done.

“… I can’t imagine how scared those kids had to have been,” Gerard wondered aloud. “The fear. Seeing that car coming towards them. The bat. Bert. The smile that must have been on his face.” Gerard shook his head. “You’ve seen Bert in a fight. He smiles the whole time. He smiles and he looks like the devil when he does, like he’s enjoying it. He does enjoy it. And those poor boys…”

“Don’t think about it,” Frank told him sharply. “Just do yourself a favor and don’t think about it.”

Gerard nodded, hand tightening around his glass. “I just wish we lived in a different world. Where love wasn’t wrong.”

“Love isn’t wrong, people are,” Frank said tightly. “Let’s go for a walk.”

. . .

“I just don’t get it!” Gerard shouted as they stumbled atop a roof, one of many nameless buildings in the shitty city of New Jersey. Frank hated the smell of the ocean on the east coast, and it was stronger up here. He heard that the west coast smelled so much better. He had started thinking about what Ryan had said, and the idea of leaving was slowly growing on him, if only to follow Ryan.

“I don’t fucking get it,” Gerard continued vehemently. “What the fuck is his problem, Frankie?! Why does he have to go around killing things? Animals? People? Fucking hopes and dreams? What’s so broken in his head that he can’t function like a normal person and let existence just fucking exist?”

“You’d know better than me,” Frank griped.

 

Gerard narrowed his eyes, thought Frank got the feeling that Gee wasn’t actually mad a Frank. “I hate the guy,” Gerard spat. “I do. I try not to, you know? I try not to hate anyone. We lost so many fucking people because of hate, we nearly lost a whole fucking religion because one guy hated too much, we lost grandparents and fathers and brothers, we lost so much to that war that it makes me dizzy! We’re a fucking fucked up race! Everyone! Humanity is fucked up, and there’s nothing we can do to save ourselves!”

“Don’t be so abysmal,” Frank advised. “We’re not that bad.”

“Less than fifteen years ago, we were slaughtering people left and right!” Gerard exploded. “ _On both sides, Frankie._ Both sides. We can’t redeem ourselves. We can’t redeem anyone.”

“You and I were barely even alive,” Frank sighed. “I was five years old, then. So were you. We can’t be blamed for our father’s mistakes. We can’t do that to ourselves. We won’t make it past twenty-five if we do. Hopelessness will settle in, we’ll lose what’s left in us that makes us fight. We can’t take all this blame on ourselves. It’ll kill us. It’ll kill our generation, it’ll kill our country, and it’ll kill our world. We gotta save some face, Gee. We gotta save who we are. Separate us from our fathers and keep going with our heads held as high as we can keep them. It’s the only way we won’t notice the water rising to our necks.”

Gerard stared at Frank, the wind whipping his long black hair around his face. The window was cold up here, despite the burgeoning summer heat, and Frank stared back. There wasn’t much to say, Frank knew that. There was a lot wrong with the world they lived in. Frank tried not to fight too much. He always thought that if he fought everything that came his way, he’d be too tired to fight the things that really mattered.

Gerard kept staring at Frank, though, like he was ready to fight every single monster that came his way.

Then Gerard was surging forward, hands enveloping Frank’s face, to pull him in and kiss him like Frank’s lungs held the air Gerard needed to breathe. It was forceful and bruising, and Frank gasped in shock and surprise, blindsided by the connection of their lips that was mostly teeth and tongue. 

Then Gerard was pulling away, and the world was bright again.

“If I tried to jump off this building,” Gerard asked in a rough voice. “Would you try to stop me? Or would you go after me?”

“I’d go after you,” Frank responded immediately, brought down to his baser thoughts by the kiss. “We’d hit the concrete together. We’d hit at the same time, and everyone would know that it was us.”

Gerard peered over the ledge with a wild look in his eyes. “… Let’s take the stairs.”

. . .

Gerard went a separate way home once they were down the stairs and didn’t say a word to Frank.

Frank felt like he’d been hit by a car.

He kinda liked it.

. . .

Frank tumbled through Ryan’s window again, hitting the ground rolling and not bothering to be shocked by the fact that Brendon was in his best friend’s bed again. Brendon had on pants, anyways, so there wasn’t much for Frank to really freak out about. Brendon was freaking out, though. Brendon freaked out about fucking everything.

“Oh my god, Ryan!” Brendon shrieked, drawing up the covers to hide his nipples. “He did it again!”

“What the fuck, Frankie?” Ryan asked with an exasperated sigh. The use of the nickname, though, told Frank that Ryan wasn’t even a little bit bothered. He probably knew that Frank wouldn’t come through the window unannounced unless it was absolutely necessary, because of what had happened last time. Frank would have been a lot more cautious if what he’d needed Ryan for wasn’t serious. 

“Ryan, I need to talk to you alone,” Frank said.

“Why can’t I be here?” Brendon asked.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Because I don’t fucking trust that huge mouth of yours. Now scram. Or cover your ears, and if I find out you were listening? I’ll find a way to make Ryan stop pegging you. And then you’ll really be sorry.”

“Ryan wouldn’t do that,” Brendon pouted.

“If what you’re listening in on is sensitive enough, I would,” Ryan said, coming to Frank’s defense. “B, baby— could you maybe go to the bathroom or something?” He looked slightly apologetic, but Frank knew that Ryan understood. That was a comfort.

Brendon tugged the sheets around his torso and left the room with an unhappy expression. Frank dropped onto the bed, onto Brendon’s vacated spot. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused when he saw Ryan’s hair was curly and all over his face, mussy and matching his relaxed expression, ignoring the concern in his eyes. Frank smiled a bit. “You look pretty chill.”

Ryan blushed faintly and ran a hand through his hair. “Look like myself,” he said. “What do you need, Frank?”

“Gerard Way k…” Frank trailed off, realizing that this wasn’t his secret to tell. Not for Gerard. Fuck, what if he shouldn’t be telling Ryan this at all? Granted, Ryan was gay too, so he would be the last person to out Gerard, but still…

“Gerard Way did what?” Ryan pressed, shoulders tensing. Frank knew what it had to sound like. Ryan had to be thinking that Gerard got Frank in deep shit with Frank, or someone else. Something bad. Ryan seemed ready to think the worst of Gerard, so Frank, of course, had to correct him.

“Gerard kissed me,” Frank said. “On top of a building. I don’t know which one. It was windy and cold and he kissed me and asked if I’d jump off the building after him.”

Ryan stared at Frank, and then said, “he’s as crazy as Bert.”

“Which part of that makes him crazy?” Frank asked for accuracy’s sake. “The kissing or the building jumping?”

“Both,” Ryan said. “You’re not gay.”

Frank frowned. “What? Hey. I could be.”

Ryan blanched. Frank just shrugged, because he wasn’t about to shove himself into a box of certainty and ignore any other calling. “My comfort zone can go fuck itself,” he told Ryan. “If it’s special, then it should be celebrated.”

“All he did was kiss you, right?” Frank nodded his response, still trying to figure out any sort of reason Gerard could have had. It wasn’t like boys just started kissing boys out of nowhere, for no reason. People were usually a lot smarter than that, and definitely not so impulsive. Especially Gerard. Gerard didn’t seem like the spontaneous type, especially after Bert’s recent murders. 

God, fuck, Bert had killed people.

“Frankie!” Ryan called out, snapping his fingers in Frank’s face.

“I need a smoke,” Frank choked out, scrambling around in his back pocket for his due backs, but nothing was there. His hands started to shake as he slowly realized that Bert could come to kill him next. He didn’t like to think that this was how scared Ryan had been.

Ryan rolled off his bed and went into his dresser, pulling out the pack that Frank had left in here months ago. Frank snatched it with a grateful nod and lit one up, barely able to hold the stick without burning something, but singed fingers were better than singed sheets when the sheets weren’t his. 

“I can’t believe Gerard kissed you,” Ryan sighed. “I just… he seems too little to be able to do something that big.”

“Don’t insult him when he can’t be here to defend himself,” Frank snorted. 

Ryan shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m sorry, but he just doesn’t seem like the type. He’s, like… squishy. He doesn’t have a backbone. He’s got the running lights of a rabbit about to bolt. I can’t imagine him doing something as dangerous and wild as kissing you, and then trying to jump off a building.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Okay, let’s just forget the jumping off a building part and focus on the kiss.”

“Oh my god, who kissed you?” Brendon asked from behind the _fucking closed door, jesus christ._

“Brendon!” Ryan shouted. “Go away!” There was the sound of scuffling feet, like Brendon was running away or something, which fucking served him right. The little shit was obvious eavesdropping on a conversation that definitely did not include him. It shouldn’t include anyone but Ryan and Frank and that was fucking it.

“If he raps on us, I’m killing him,” Frank swore. 

“No you won’t,” Ryan sighed. “And Frankie? B-be careful. I don’t know if you’re into Gerard like he’s apparently into you, but either way, this could be really dangerous. He’s closer friends with Bert than anyone in the Bloodsuckers, so that means Bert will either let Gerard slide and go after you, or go after both of you. Both are equally deadly. Literally deadly.”

“You think I don’t get that?” Frank shook his head. 

Ryan bit his lip. “… Do you wanna kiss him again?”  Frank’s head shot up, eyes wide, and he didn’t say anything because he knew his answer to that question probably wasn’t the right answer at all. But Ryan was looking to him with earnest curiosity and concern, like Frank’s answer would change _both_ their lives, and Frank couldn’t lie or deny the kid, because Ryan would never lie or deny him.

“I, uh, I kinda do,” he confessed, hands shaking again, the nicotine in his lungs now just a pointless poison. 

“Fuck,” Ryan choked out, tugging at his hair. Frank really did like how curly it was. “You know you can’t tell anyone, right? Not even Ray. Because Ray and Gee are friends, yeah, but Ray might not know about Gee being gay, so you can’t fucking out him, okay? You can’t out Gerard. Telling me already might have been a mistake.”

“You wouldn’t tell anyone,” Frank said confidently, which brought a tiny smile from his best friend.

“You’re right,” Ryan agreed. “I wouldn’t. But my boyfriend is apparently a fucking sewer, so I can’t make any promises.” Frank was only kinda sure that Ryan was joking, so he shot an angry glare to the door just for good measure.

“You should try not to talk to Gee for a few days,” Ryan advised.

“What?” Frank frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“I kinda assumed you don’t wanna be a thing with him?”

Frank blanched. “Who the fuck ever said anything about being a thing? It’s not like I wanna go steady with him. With anyone at all. I’m not gonna fucking do anything about it, I didn’t come here for any actual advice, I just knew it was something I needed to tell you. But nothing’s gonna happen. He’s probably not gonna do shit about it.” Because Ryan was right— Gerard was a bit too shy to make any major moves. “We’ll ignore it if he wants to, laugh it off if he wants to, do whatever. I’m not gonna get with him or anything.”

Ryan looked oddly relieved. Frank was a bit annoyed by that.

“You gotta make sure he’s gonna keep his mouth shut, too. He could go off and rant to Bert about it,” Ryan warned. “And then Bert would definitely kill you. There’s no outcome here that ends with you getting out of this alive if Bert finds out. He’s bloodthirsty and he’ll tear you apart.”

“I know that,” Frank huffed.

“Thank you for telling me,” Ryan said sincerely. Frank smiled a bit.

“Get your boyfriend back in here,” he said instead of expressing verbal gratitude. “I want to teach him how to blow smoke rings.”

“Brendon doesn’t smoke,” Ryan said, but Frank didn’t care. He was going get his mind off the murder and shit and focus on getting Brendon to actually like him. It was an attempt long overdue, anyways.

“Thanks for making time for me,” Frank said as an afterthought.

Instead of being an ass and mentioning something about Frank coming through his window, Ryan waved him off and replied, “you shouldn’t have to beg for your best friend’s attention.”

. . .

Frank surprisingly saw Gerard the next day, before school even started. Ryan and Brendon and Frank had walked to school together because, as usual, Frank stayed over at Ryan’s house. Frank hardly ever slept in his own home without Ryan there, and Ryan hardly ever slept in his own home without Frank there, regardless of Ryan’s father and whether or not he was present. So by staying over, Frank went to school with Ryan _end_ Brendon, and they talked about dumb shit, and Frank found out that, aside from the loud mouth, Brendon liked some cool things, like guitars and colors and Ryan. Brendon and Frank teased Ryan almost relentlessly, because Brendon had new fodder, and Frank fucking loved watching Ryan go red with annoyed embarrassment.

The morning had been easygoing and relaxed until Ryan’s steps and slowed and his shoulders stiffened. Frank had looked up to find out what had caused Ryan’s mood to change, then tensed as well when he saw Gerard standing by the steps, using black sticks to draw something in his sketchbook.

“I’m gonna talk to him,” he told Ryan, quickening his pace to get ahead, though he knew that Ryan would leave Frank to the conversation once he caught up anyways, so Frank didn’t need to force privacy for himself. Frank started running, the closer he got to Gerard, because he felt this weird anticipation in his chest that was tightening with every foot, and making his hands sweat. He stopped short in his tracks, a foot or so from where Gerard was on the steps, and found he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Gerard apparently saw his scuffed shoes, though, and looked up to flash Frank that bright smile with the tiny teeth. “Morning, Frankie!” he chimed, bright and cheerful. “I had an idea for your art project, and I couldn’t wait— ideas make it hard for me to remember to eat and stuff, I try to get it done quickly so I can move on and live again, yeah? So I just wanted to run it by you and make sure you’re good with it before I use it.”

“Shoot,” Frank blurted out, starry eyed and blindsided by how nonchalant Gerard was being.

“I was gonna maybe ask you to come over and talk about nothing again? And have you ramble again, and then, whenever you say something that sticks with me, I’ll use the words to make the picture.”

Frank blinked owlishly at him, sort of mentally stuttering over the idea Gerard was pitching. “… So I paint with words?”

Gerard chuckled and Frank stared at his lips. 

“I’m gonna write the words you say down,” Gerard explained. “And they’ll follow the sketch. And the colors will match the palate we’ve chosen, and it’s gonna be really pretty, Frankie. We can finish this in one night, too, and it’ll definitely require the time your teacher wants put into it, and it’ll have enough emotional and psychological depth to display a deeper idea in the work, while simultaneously simplifying the skills needed in the work, meaning she’ll totally believe you made it while still blowing her expectations out of the water!”

Frank began to smile with him, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Fuck, yeah? Yeah. Okay, yeah, I-I like it. Let’s fucking do it.”

Gerard’s smile became impossibly more chemical. “I’ll grab you after school? Art class?”

“Fucking see you there, Gee,” Frank said.

Gerard had his bag packed and was up the steps before Frank even remembered why he’d come to talk to Gerard in the first place.

. . .

“Bert wants to talk to all of us after classes,” Davey told Frank as he passed him in the hall between class periods..

Frank knew he wasn’t gonna go.

. . .

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Gerard cheered, grabbing Frank’s hand and pulling him out the back door of the art room. Frank barely had time to stomp out his smoke, following Gerard with an eager expression. Gerard seemed like he actually had something planned for today, and even though it was a week night, and the city was dangerous, Frank was gonna go with it.

“I found this amazing little pastry place!” Gerard told Frank once they’d caught a cab to take them halfway across the fucking city, jesus. Frank vaguely remembered that it was Wednesday, and he was supposed to help Billie J in the shop, but Gerard made Frank feel better about being alive, so Frank couldn’t bring himself to regret ditching. “They sell these cupcakes that have this amazing buttercream icing that they put inside the cupcake too, and it’s so delicious that my mouth is watering just thinking about it!”  The cab stopped and Gerard paid quickly, pulling Frank from the car and running with him to the little pastry shop that was beneath a warehouse that looked like it used to make munitions. Gerard burst into the shop with a cheerful greeting, a far cry from the somewhat shyer guy that Frank was used to, and he didn’t mind. He wondered if Gerard became more and more confident with the further he got from Bert.

Frank and Gerard sat at a rounded table in the furthest inward corner of the little pastry shop, and Frank was hyperaware of how dark and intimate it was. Gerard didn’t seem to notice, though, and was happily licking the icing from his cupcake, the white sweetness smearing across his lips and chin and one of his cheeks, and even the tip of his nose. Frank felt like laughing every time he saw Gerard’s face.

“There’s just so much wrong with the world, and especially humanity, and yet we can make such good food!” Gerard was gushing, waxing poetic justice for the cupcake industry and the growing wealth that could be found in pastry cooking and food. “Despite the wars and the murder and the pain, we’ve got food, and we always will. And that means something, you know? We could have stuck with our basic needs, the things we need to survive, butter, milk, and eggs and mundane mediocrity, but we instead made a plethora of options that spans and defines cultures and countries and families. I think it’s pretty amazing, Frankie.”

“You’re pretty amazing,” Frank shot back lamely. Gerard raised a brow, but grinned all the same. 

“You seem kinda quiet,” Gerard observed with a neutral expression. Frank wasn’t sure if he should read into what didn’t even exist, because sometimes absence said more than presence, but he was finding himself far too relaxed and happy and content with where he was and who he was with. He didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth and screw himself over with his endless paranoia. 

“This cupcake is boss,” Frank said instead, focusing on the sweet treat.

“You haven’t even mentioned yesterday,” Gerard barreled on. “I mean, what happened was a pretty big deal. I may or may not have been riding a high. And there was a lot of panic about Bert and I was scared and ranting and I get pretty heated when I talk about things that matter to me.”

“Are you explaining why you kissed me?”

Gerard frowned. “What? The kiss? No, I’m explaining why I asked you about jumping off the building.”

Frank felt a little stupid.

Gerard bit his lip, looking a bit nervous. “… I kissed you because I wanted to,” he told Frank with an wary expression.

Frank didn’t have words.

Gerard was swinging his feet under the table, and kept nudging Frank’s shin with his toes. Frank watched Gerard from across the table, trying to get his mind working again. It was stuttering to a useless halt, and Frank didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t attracted to Gerard, was he? Did that even matter? Gerard was apparently into him. Frank hadn’t had any fucking clue that…

“Are you gay?” Frank asked in a hush, terrified that they’d be overheard. He didn’t want to get Gerard into any sort of trouble. He couldn’t imagine Gerard getting hurt like what had happened to the two boys.

Gerard shrugged. “Not particularly. I-I have had a relationship with a boy, but… it wasn’t. Good.”

“Was it Bert?” Frank asked, sounding like he was trying to punch Bert in the gut with his words.

“No,” Gerard immediately denied. “I’m not romantically with anyone right now. I haven’t been in a long time. Not since that. A-and I never really wanted to. Not with girls or boys or anyone, really, b-but…” Gerard shrugged, licking his lips, picking up some of the icing that was still sticking to his skin. “… You make me feel safe. Intrinsically safe. Not that usual safe, that term everyone throws around like a bunch of idiots who don’t really understand the meaning of the word. When I say safe, I mean it. I mean that you make me feel like even if there’s a storm breaking all the windows and shaking the house, the house won’t flood. I can be in danger, but I know that, even if I’m hurt, you’ll be there to tend the wounds and make sure whoever did it will pay.” Gerard was tugging at his hair. “Does that make sense?”

“Not at all,” Frank told him honestly.

Gerard sighed and hung his head in his hands. “… You’re the person I wish I was. Strong, brave, resilient, and terribly brilliant.”  “Brilliant?” Frank echoed with an incredulous bark of laughter. “I can’t even pass an art class! I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand the meaning of words.”

“But you’re so smart, Frankie,” Gerard stressed. “You talk about things that no one even bothers to consider! You delve into your own psyche and you’re never afraid to ask the question that would send anyone else into a spiral of fear, or even insanity. You understand things for a few split seconds, you understand life itself, I can see it in your eyes, you just don’t know how to say it, and that isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of language for failing you, failing to give you a way to express yourself and your thoughts and your genius.”

“You are giving me way too much credit,” Frank deadpanned.

“But I’m not, Frankie.” Gerard sounded almost like he was pleading with Frank, desperately willing him to understand. Frank knew he never would.

“The way you see things is like seeing into the mind of someone who made the world on his own,” Gerard continued, hands in the air as he gestured wildly, like he was trying to give Frank visuals that would make things clear. “You talk about the world like you witnessed the day it was created, like you’ve seen the day that it ends. You talk about people like you were the one to wire and design their brains, like an architect discussing his structures. You talk about Ryan like he’s the one for you, he’s the person you’d like to spend forever with, and that’s what I wanna be, Frankie. I wanna be someone you want watch the world end with. To bring with you.”

“You can be,” Frank told him, wanting to alleviate the growing distress on Gerard’s face. He wasn’t sure how he had caused such panic and pain, but he knew he wanted to end it.

“But don’t you get it?” Gerard asked with a broken smile. “The place of a friend has been taken. Ryan fills that spot in your head, in your heart, and I know I’ll never be able to get in there, wouldn’t ever be able to fit in alongside Ryan. Anything less than that lifelong companionship isn’t good enough, so… I-I need to be someone you love. That you’re in love with. That’s the only way I can see you wanting me along for the rest of the ride.”

Frank faltered. “You… I don’t need to be in love with you to want you to stick around.”

“But I don’t know how I could ever be confident that you won’t leave me behind without that,” Gerard whimpered, honest to fucking god whimpered, and it wasn’t okay for Gerard to sound so hurt. Frank leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, and he grabbed Gerard’s hands so they’d stop moving so much.

“Whatever you think you have to do to make me want you by my side is pointless,” Frank told him. “Because I already want you there. Okay? There’s no need for you to try and achieve something that you already have.”

Gerard looked over to Frank, face full of torn agony, like he wanted to believe Frank, but doubted what he was saying. “Just can’t let go of something as good as you,” Gerard told him, voice cracking. “M-my mom told me that if I ever found something sweet and good in this world, I should never let it go. Never let it slip from my grasp, because I’d never find anything like it again.”

“I’m here, Gerard,” Frank promised. “I’m not going anywhere. No need to make me fall in love.”

Gerard nodded and let out a long, shaky breath. “So, uh…’ Gerard chuckled tightly. “These cupcakes, huh?”

Frank just nodded and finished his own dessert, worried that Gerard didn’t need to make Frank fall in love, because it could already be happening.


	6. Don’t You Think You’ve Seen Enough of This? You Look Too Tired to Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> most evil things need to be killed with fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the lovely [cemeterydrivethru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cemeterydrivethru) for actually muddling through the typos and not lynching me
> 
> [that tumblr yo](http://wellthisisprettyrisque.tumblr.com)
> 
>  **Daily Dose of Dialogue Definitions**  
>  Clyde: term of address, usually for a normal person  
> Blast: a good time  
> Germ: a pest  
> Goof(ed): someone who makes mistakes; to make a mistake  
> “I’ll clue you”: “I’ll tell you about it”  
> Kill: to really impress  
> Iron: blood/inner loyalty; a weapon  
> Ankle Biter: a child/brat
> 
>  
> 
> **warning for mild/unmentioned character death**

Frank wanted to say they never kissed again. He really did, but after the following night, Frank couldn’t say so.

. . .

After ditching the mandatory meeting with their psychotic leader of a monster, Frank had spent the night at Ryan’s house after gushing about the things Gerard had said, the way he’d looked, the way he had spoken about Frank’s own mind, while Ryan had looked on with resignation. It was like Ryan knew what was going to happen, but that couldn’t be possible. Frank didn’t even know what was going to happen. Then they’d gone to school, same as every fucking day since fucking forever, and Frank had latched onto Gerard with a dumb grin, talking about nothing with him until class had started. Then, Frank had latched onto Gerard after school, and they’d gone down into Gerard’s basement. 

“I just think the world would look a lot better in brighter color,” Gerard giggled, putting out the end of his cigarette on the concrete floor. Frank was sprawled out atop the clothes covering Gerard’s bed, staring up at Cthulhu with a soft smile. He and Cthulhu were buddies now, just like him and Gee. Gerard was actually going to buy paints to let Frank mark up Gerard’s wall, in front of his bed, just above where Gerard was supposed to lay down his head to rest, if Gerard ever cleared off his bed well enough to fit. Gerard mostly slept on his sofa, and drew shit on his arms and legs and stomach and paper. Frank actually held out his arm and Gerard painted an amazing scene of Frankenstein and Dracula swapping spit passionately. Frank fucking loved it. He did. He wished he could get it permanently inked into his skin. He wanted tattoos. He told Gerard that.

“I can totally find a guy,” Gerard told him with a wide grin, tracing a fingertip of the dried paint. “They probably couldn’t do something as amazing as this, but it would definitely be close. Maybe they could do roses or the small intestine!”

“Those are totally similar,” Frank snorted.

Gerard giggled, his nose scrunching with laughter, eyes twinkling in the harsh lighting of the basement, and Frank just started laughing with him. His body shook with his peels of laughter, staring up at Cthulhu, who looked undeniably hungry for Frank’s soul.

There was a shout from upstairs, then a woman was in the room. She was wearing a paisley dress with a white apron, and was smiling tiredly at Gerard.

“I need you to the some of your clothes upstairs so I can iron them,” she told Gerard. She was obviously Gerard’s mother. Frank hadn’t ever met her before. Gerard groaned, but stood, obviously doing as told, grabbing a few shirts and a pair of slacks, before trudging up the stairs, leaving Frank alone with the woman who was mostly a stranger.

“You’re Frank, right?” she asked him, voice hoarse with years of nicotine. Frank was pretty sure he was going to sound like she did in a few years. “The boy from school? He’s helping you with art. He talks about you a lot.” The woman smiled again, and Frank wondered if she knew about Gerard’s bruises. Frank hadn’t really dwelled on the marks lately, because he knew Gerard didn’t want him to. It bothered him, but the idea of bothering Gerard was worse. “You seem like a nice boy, for someone wearing a jacket.”

“Gerard’s a good friend,” Frank said neutrally, not wanting to give anything away. He didn’t know how open Gerard was with his mother. For all he knew, Gerard’s parents knew as much about Gerard. as Frank’s parents knew about him.

“He needs a friend like you,” the woman continued. “Bert’s poison.” Frank was taken aback by the blunt dislike in her voice. “All he’s done is drag Gerard down into depravity and pain. Those fights aren’t for fun. I know better.”

“What fights?” Frank asked, frowning.

“Bert comes over and they practice fighting,” she explained with a haggard look in her eyes. “I would stop them but Gerard locks the door. Bert shows up in my house, and I know my poor boy will come out with a bust jaw and a blind eye soon enough.” She shook her head, then started moving around the room, folding articles of clothing and putting books away. She probably was the type of person to do things with her hands when she was upset. “I don’t like that boy. He’s bad for my baby.”

“Mom!” Gerard shouted. “Did you make ice cream today?”

“Yes, sweetie!” she replied, heading back upstairs. Frank continued to lie on the bed, but not as comfortably as before. He looked up at Cthulhu and wondered how many fights the monster had witnessed. How many times it had watched Gerard get the life beaten out of his body, yet somehow willingly, letting Bert hurt him. It felt wrong, to know that the ceiling had seen this broken part of Gerard that Frank wished didn’t even exist. He was scared that Bert would lose himself to the anger one day and kill Gerard, possibly by accident, but most likely not.

Gerard came back down the stairs and dropped onto the bed beside Frank. “What’re you looking at?”

“Is Bert going to come here tonight?” Frank asked. “Is he gonna hit you?”

Gerard went still so violently that Frank felt it through the mattress. But he didn’t regret his question. He continued to lie there, waiting patiently for Gerard’s answer. He wasn’t going to take silence for an answer, nor would he accept an excuse. He was resolute in his need to know the truth.

“We don’t fight,” Gerard murmured after a long moment of tense quiet. 

“Bullshit,” Frank spat.

“It’s true,” the other boy instead in a tiny voice. “It, it’s not a fight.”

“Then what is it?” 

Gerard shook his head, turning his face away from Frank, so Frank couldn’t see his expression. “… I’m not ready to tell you.”

Frank sighed. “Will you tell me one day?’

“Yes,” Gerard replied firmly, looking to Frank. “I promise. I will. Just not today.”

Frank pursed his lips.

“Would you like to know something else about me?” Gerard asked hopefully. “Something a little less… condemning?”

“I would never condemn you,” Frank huffed.

“I know,” Gerard amended. “I was speaking more for myself.” Frank grimaced. “I just… Well, we need to work on your project, anyways. Why don’t you stay there and I’ll get set up on the floor. Oh wait, it’s all already set up, good.” Gerard went to his little spot on the floor and sat with a somewhat pleased smile. “I’m almost done with the preliminary outline— I’ve really just got to get all your words down as you say them. Which is really awesome for me. I love listening to you talk.”

Frank rolled onto his stomach to face Gerard, watching Gerard pull out the particular pen that Gerard had decided was perfect for whatever he wanted to do. “I wish I could do art like you,” he told Gerard, figuring he wasn’t being grammatically correct, and knowing he couldn’t fix that. “I wish I could express myself. I feel like images are easier than words. If I wanted to explain how small I felt, I’d just draw a tiny dot, then put the world next to me. That would be good enough.”

“It’s not hard,” Gerard said, which Frank laughed about.

“Not hard?” he repeated incredulously. “It’s fucking impossible! It’s like— I can see the elephant. In my head. It’s right there, standing there, I can see it clear as fucking day, but when I try to make my hand recreate it, I fail. How does that work?”  Gerard shrugged, so Frank kept going.

“Where’s the disconnect?” Frank asked Gerard’s dirty clothes. “Why can’t my hands create what my mind so easily can? You’d think that the accuracy I have in my head would be translated into my hands, which are completely controlled by my brain. But it can’t! Every other part of my body follows my brain’s directions perfectly, save my hands.” Frank paused. “… And my dick. Those two things don’t pay attention to my brain. My hands and my dick.”

Gerard looked vaguely interested. “Do you have erection problems, Frankie?” he asked with less subtly than Frank and been expected. He’d at least figured Gerard would use some sort of euphemism or slang term for Frank’s penis, but they were apparently going right for the jugular, and yeah, Frank wasn’t sure why he had thought something different would have happened. 

“Erection problems? Please. My erections are perfect.”

Gerard giggled. “I’d like to see that.”

Frank watched Gerard, not sure what Gerard meant by that. “Uh…”  Gerard flushed and ducked his head. “Forget I said that.”

“Were you flirting?” Frank asked, eyes wide with genuine interest. 

Gerard’s cheeks were pleasantly flushed, light pink just below his eyes as Gerard refused to look up at him. His dark lashes brushed his cheeks, and his black hair fell across his pale face, looking like Da Vinci painting. Frank soaked in the sight of the other boy, and decided he was perfectly okay with Gerard flirting with him.  
 Frank put his hands flat on the ground and started crawling towards Gerard with his legs still on the bed, so he hovered parallel to the ground like a plank. Gerard looked up at him, eyes wide like an owl’s, probably from surprise, and Frank just focused on Gerard’s lips which were red and swollen from being gnawed on, a nervous habit that Frank secretly adored. Frank grinned a bit, then leaned in further, crawled that few extra inches, and connected their lips. Gerard’s lips instantly parted with a tiny gasp, and Frank wondered if this was actually what Gerard wanted. But then Gerard pushed into the kiss, meeting Frank and even starting to take, hands shooting up to curl around Frank’s jaw and neck, and acting like he was trying to devour Frank’s mouth, tongue shoving its way inside and exploring every inch it could reach.

Frank gasped, arms trembling as they became weak from the way Gerard was kissing him, like he intended to make Frank lose all strength in his body and succumb to Gerard’s mouth. Gerard moved forward, going up onto his knees, and Frank had to contort his spine in a painful bend as Gerard forced himself closer. He kept coming, and Frank was pushed back completely onto the bed, no longer breaking Frank’s spine, thankfully, but then Gerard crawled on top of him, pinning Frank to the bed, and Frank no longer had the upper hand. 

It felt kinda good.

Frank lied under Gerard, meeting his lips gracelessly, more focused on feeling good and making sure Gerard felt good to actually focus on how his kissing technique was up to par. Gerard didn’t seem very bothered by it, so Frank disconnected the kiss and dragged his lips down to Gerard’s neck, latching onto the mostly clear skin. He nipped at the flesh, digging his teeth in and really getting a taste for Gerard’s skin, before sucking a mark into the pale skin, then moving onto the next patch. Gerard whimpered and squirmed above him, clinging to the front of Frank’s shirt like he needed something to hold onto.

Frank wasn’t sure if he was any good at necking, really, but Gerard didn’t seem to mind, and was in fact in the process of slipping his hand up Frank’s shirt with _really fucking cold hands, jesus christ._

“Oh my god,” Frank choked out, almost writhing away from Gerard’s touch. “Cold, cold, cold! Fucking cold! Jesus christ, cold!”

Gerard pulled back and looked down at Frank in confusion. “What?”

“Dude, your fingers are ice,” Frank giggled, high pitched. “What have you been doing, fingering the ice queen? Juggling ice? Freezing your hands in the—”

“I get it,” Gerard snorted. “Sorry. I, uh, I can warm them up?”  Frank shook his head. He sat up and fixed his shirt, lifting his head to kiss the corner of Gerard’s lips because he enjoyed the taste. “Should probably get that project done.”

Gerard looked immensely disappointed. He wrapped a hand around his neck— which bore the mark Frank had made— and sat back even further.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked nervously. 

“No, no,” Frank assured him. “I’m just not gay.”

That was, by far, the dumbest thing Frank had ever said, and he didn’t even realize it. Gerard didn’t say anything. “I’m gonna get to work on this,” Gerard told Frank, getting off the bed. Frank wasn’t really sure what he’d done wrong.

. . .

“So you made out with him, told him to stop because he had cold hands, and then denied being gay?” Ryan’s eyes were narrowed with critical scorn. “That’s fucked up, Frankie. You’re a fucked up guy.”

“What are you talking about?” Frank scoffed, watching his shoes scuff the concrete as he walked beside Ryan. Brendon wasn’t with them because he was out of town, heading over to Utah for a family wedding. Ryan was obviously lonely. He’d ended up staying over at Frank’s house curled up in Frank’s bed, talking about a book he’d read that Frank couldn’t recall. Frank hadn’t done his homework in about a week, and Ryan had given him so much shit for his neglect. Frank didn’t tell Ryan about his short tryst with Gerard until they were on their way to school, so Ryan would have a limited amount of time to chew Frank out.

“You just love to fuck ‘em and leave ‘em, don’t you?” Ryan said with a scowl. “God, I can’t even imagine how fucked Gerard is now. You can’t just do that to someone, Frank, you can’t do that to anyone. Especially not people you care about. You just fucked used him, Frank. You get that, right? You get how messed up that is? You better apologize to him as soon as you fucking can.”

“I’ll apologize when I see him today,” Frank grumbled. He knew that Ryan was right.

“You fucking better,” Ryan snapped. 

. . .

Gerard didn’t show up at school today. 

But Bert did.

. . .

“So, you didn’t listen to me,” Bert sang, cornering Frank against the walls of the hallway. it was lunch period, so everyone was off in the corral, eating and enjoying life way more than Frank was right now. He was actually a little scared. Especially since he’d just been necking another boy while Bert was obviously okay with murdering boys for just that reason. 

“What do you mean, Bert?” Frank asked cautiously, ready to defend himself.

“The painter,” Bert hummed, reaching down and dancing his fingertips across the wall next to Frank’s neck. “ _My_ painter. My Gerard, the little vampire of my thoughts, the Clyde of the times. Heard you showed him a blast, Frankie. Heard you got to know my little vampire pretty damn well.” Bert traced Frank’s neck with his fingernails, highlighting the spot where Frank knew he had marked Gerard’s neck. “… You bug me, Frankie. What you have done?” Bert tutted. “You little germ. You goofed up.”

Frank flinched when Bert’s gentle fingers curled into a fist that slammed into the brick wall by his ear. Frank heard a crack, wondered if Bert’s knuckles were now broken, but Bert just laughed.

“You think you can take what’s mine?” Bert asked, breathless and absolutely insane. “That you can mark my little bat up and walk away? I’ll fuckin’ clue you, Frankie— I’m gonna hurt you, somehow. I like your face, I do. But I will hurt you. And what I’ve got in mind is gonna kill ya.”

Bert pulled away and sauntered back down the hall. “Later, gator!” he called behind his back

. . .

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Ryan asked shakily, bent over and leaning in close to Frank so everyone would catch the drift that they weren’t welcomed nor allowed in this conversation. “He likes your face, but he isn’t gonna hurt you? What the fuck, Frank? _What the fuck?_ ”

“I don’t fucking know,” Frank choked out. “But Gerard… God, he, h-he could be dead, Ry. He could be gone. What the fuck will I do if he’s gone?”

“Are you asking in relation to your fucking art project or your feelings for him?” Ryan demanded, somehow managing to sound horribly sarcastic and awfully concerned at the same time. “Jesus, Frank, can’t you put your own needs aside for one fucking moment and actually consider that there are things more important than your grades?”

“I’m asking in relation to my fucking feelings for him, you asshole,” Frank snapped.

Ryan’s expression dropped into something sadder. “I’m so sorry, Frankie.”

“I’m not gay,” Frank seethed. “I’m fucking not.”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Ryan sighed. “Look, we need to figure out what to do. Where Gerard is. Is there anyone we can trust? Maybe someone Gerard knows? Family or friends that we can ask who might know where he is and if he’s okay?”

“Ray,” Frank answered immediately. “We can ask Ray. He’s been friends with Gerard for as long as you and I have been friends, I think. If we need any sort of information, we should go to him. He’d definitely know something.”

“Well where is he?” Ryan asked.

Frank paused, then realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn’t seen Ray today either.

“We could go to Gerard’s house,” Ryan suggested cautiously. 

“What if he’s at Ray’s?”

Ryan shook his head. “Okay— I’ll go to Ray’s. You go to Gerard’s. Hopefully, we’ll find them at either one of those places. At five P.M., no later, we meet at the diner, the one with the floats? We meet there and we let the other person know what happened. Or if nothing happened. That’s the rendezvous point. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Frank breathed, a bundle of nerves and worst case scenarios.

. . .

Frank literally ran to Gerard’s house, pounded on the sub-window that lead to the basement, and nearly cried out in relief when Gerard was the one to open it from the inside. He slid into the basement, dropping onto piles of clothes and barreling into Gerard, both of the dropping to the floor with the force of Frank’s hug. Gerard let out this harsh sound that would’ve made Frank’s stomach churn if he’d been able to hear anything over the sound of the blood roaring in his ears, relief making him stupid. He was curled up on top of the other boy and fighting not to cry, which was even more stupid, because Frank Iero didn’t cry, he just got angry. He was about to get angry soon.

Frank pulled back from Gerard’s chest, finally ready to speak, but tripped over his words when he saw that half of Gerard’s face was swollen, and Gerard was crying for both of them.

“He said he w-was gonna go after you n-next,” Gerard sobbed, hiccups being the only thing to interrupt the chest wracking heaves of breath. “I-I tried to fight him, b-b-but I w-was on the g-ground, and…” Gerard lifted his hands to cover his face. “The, th- the swelling will g-go down, it just… h-hurts.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Frank swore in a low, even voice.

Gerard, though, shook his head quickly and reached up to hold to the front of Frank’s shirt. “Don’t,” he whimpered. “H-he could hurt y-you. Or you c-c-could go to jail, a-and then I’d n-never see you again.”

“So we’re just gonna let him get away with this?” Frank snarled and crawled off of Gerard, starting to pace the room as well as he could without tripping over books. “Fuck, Ryan was fucking right! This isn’t going to fucking end, Gerard! He’s not going to fucking stop until he’s happy with whatever twisted world he wants to live in! He’s not gonna be stopped with reason, we can’t just talk to him, and the police would send him right back out of prison in twenty years or something, where he’d be angrier and more fucking insane than ever, and he’d hunt us down— one by fucking one— and do the same to us as he did to those kids!”

Gerard was curled up, back to the wall, knees to his chest, watching Frank like he was expecting he was going to be hit. Frank’s fury died almost instantaneously, hating that he was the one to put that fear in Gerard’s eyes. He’d never meant to scare the other boy like this.

“We can’t pretend this didn’t happen,” he told Gerard, much more calm now. “We’re not going to pretend this didn’t happen. Bert is dangerous. More dangerous than we could have ever imagined, and if we don’t want this to happen to someone again, we’ve got to stop him.”

“M-maybe he’ll leave us alone,” Gerard suggested, sounding like he didn’t actually believe that

“Gee, I don’t know what I want from this,” Frank told him, turning to face Gerard and keeping his arms out at his sides so Gerard would be able to see all of Frank, at all times. He didn’t think Gerard was still scared of him, but he didn’t want to take any chances, either. “I stand by what I said— I’m pretty damn positive I’m not gay. But kissing you is awesome, and hey, I’m a horny male who’s just getting out of puberty. I’ll probably wanna fuck at some point. And you’re a fucking awesome guy, and I want you at my side when I watch the world end, so I’m not going to just sit around and hope that Bert will suddenly leave us alone. That’s fucking bullshit, and it’s never going to happen.”

Gerard ducked his head and didn’t say anything.

“I mean, have you fucking seen your face?” Frank demanded, gesturing towards the other boy. “That’s brutal shit! That’s shit is only ever done by a psychopath on his last leg of questionably nonexistent patience! He’s not gonna let this go. He cornered me in the fucking school, Gee, in public. He’s not afraid of anything right now, and I’m pretty sure he’s too fucking crazy to ever be scared of anyone. So we’ve got to make him scared of us.”

“H-how will we do that?” Gerard asked shakily. His sobs had thankfully calmed down, so Frank had time to mostly focus on how fucked to hell Gerard’s face was. It hurt to look at. Hurt to think of what Gerard had gone through. Kissing or not, possible romance or not, Frank really cared about this guy. He really wanted to fuck Bert up for this.

“Get the rest of the jackets to back us up,” Frank replied, knowing that this was a very tentative plan. “With Davey and Billie J and Travis and Zacky— Gee, we can do fucking anything if they’re with us. They’ve got the wheels and the metal and the iron and we can take Bert down.”

“A-and what?” Gerard demanded. “Kill him? Become no better than him?”

Frank faltered.

“You said it yourself,” Gerard continued, pulling his knees even closer to his body. “He won’t stop. He won’t fucking stop, and if we stop him temporarily, he, he’ll just come back and fuck us up even worse. He’ll come back from the hospital or prison or the bottom of fucking nowhere, he will come back, Frankie, unless we do something permanent.” Gerard looked down at his toes. “… But I don’t want to do anything permanent. Because even after what he’s done to me, I-I’m not that kind of person. And since this was done to m-me, I’m gonna ask you not to do anything permanent either. For me.” Gerard looked up at Frank with those huge, hazel eyes, wide and imploring, visibly desperate for Frank to just trust him. “For me?”

Frank scowled. “… For you.”

Gerard reached out and pulled Frank onto his knees on the bed, uncurling his own legs to lean forward and kiss Frank softly. “I’m not his,” Gerard said. “Please… don’t believe him.”

“How the fuck can I believe that when he’s done nothing but proved that you are?” Frank asked with obvious frustration. “He makes you up like you’re his, makes you do whatever he wants, makes you say whatever he wants, go where he wants, _be_ who he wants— how are you not his?” Frank turned to look to Gerard and realized, with a sinking feeling, that Gerard looked like he was going to cry.

“I’m scared to leave him,” Gerard told Frank, barely keeping himself together. “I’m scared he’ll hurt someone to keep me. I-it’s one of the reasons why Mikey had to leave. For California. B-Bert was bullying him, shoving him into the dirt, f-fucking drowning him in the ocean, and my parents sent Mikey away because they were scared Mikey was gonna get killed. _I_ was scared Mikey was gonna get killed. I was scared Bert was gonna kill my baby brother, and I c-couldn’t leave Bert, or else he’d move onto someone else. He went after Mikey c-cause Mikey had my attention. And now that someone else besides him does…” Gerard shook his head, wringing his fingers together, weaving the digits like a basket he wanted to weave too tightly, to break the strands and break his fingers. “F-fuck, he’s already threatened you. Hasn’t he? He’s already said he’s gonna come after you.”

“He said he likes my face, but he’s gonna hurt me,” Frank mumbled.

Gerard paled. “W-where’s Ryan?” he asked urgently, going up on his knees so quickly that he almost knocked his head on Frank.

“Ryan’s with Ray,” Frank told Gerard with a confused frown. “We split up to find you.”

“Are you positive he’s there?” Gerard demanded.

“What does it even matter?” Frank shot back. “Why are you trying to change the subject? Stop evading this, you can’t keep fucking lying to me and beating around the bush! When are you going to trust me, Gerard? When are you going to let me be the fucking friend that you want me to be?!”

“What happened last time Bert said he likes your face?” Gerard asked as he grabbed a fleece jacket and pulled it on, toeing into his shoes. “What happened, Frank? What happened to who?”

Frank watched Gerard get dressed, the memory Gerard was trying to make Frank recall coming to him slowly. 

“Bert tried to kill Ryan,” Frank said almost dumbly.

Gerard turned around. “He said he was mad at you, but said he liked your face too much. And then he wrapped his hands around Ryan’s neck and tried to kill him. You’ve upset Bert again, he cornered you, said he liked your face, then said he was going to hurt you.”

Frank blinked, then shook his head. He wasn’t following, he had no idea what Gerard was trying to get at. Bert hadn’t done anything to Frank after talking about his face, he had only—

“Where the fuck is Ryan?” Frank suddenly asked himself, snapping to his feet, connecting the dots too slowly for his own, and Ryan’s, own good. Gerard opened the window, and Frank scrambled out first, legs kicking wildly in his growing panic. He had no idea where to find Ryan, he just knew where he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be with Ray, and Ray would keep Ryan safe, especially once Frank and Gerard filled him in. Frank was wondering how Ray had managed to stay friends with Gerard so long without incurring Bert’s wrath. Then again, Bert was probably nervous to mess with Ray. Ray was too big for anyone to feel confident about fighting.

“We can take my mom’s car!” Gerard told Frank, jumping into the driver’s seat. Frank slammed into the passenger’s seat, praying they’d get there and find Ryan eating shitty food and making fun of Frank for being so worried. Frank knew there wasn’t anything to be worried about because there couldn’t be anything wrong with Ryan, not again, _not fucking again_. As if getting shot wasn’t bad enough. As if getting choked out by the guy that was supposed to lead you into battle wasn’t bad enough. As if just being Ryan Ross in this world wasn’t bad enough.

“He’ll be okay,” Gerard told Frank with zero confidence as Gerard drove. Frank was about to lash out for no good reason, until Gerard’s hand reached over the middle seat and placed his hand on Frank’s thigh, holding on tight enough to blow away every dumb thought in Frank’s head like a hurricane. Every thought in his head zeroed in on that hand touching him, and this was new for him. He’d never felt this. Never known it was real. He had no idea what it meant, no idea what it could mean, but he did know that Ryan was the only person who would know, so now he really needed Ryan. Ryan was so much smarter than him sometimes, jesus christ.

“I need Ryan,” he said aloud, somewhat absentmindedly. He reached this thought for one reason, but was going to continue with it for another. “He’s… he’s my brain, Gee. He understands the shit I don’t, even if it’s my shit. He’s the decoder ring for my head. I’ve never really pictured a future without him. Best man at my wedding, godfather to whatever spawn is unfortunate enough to come from me… What the fuck am I gonna do if he’s gone?”

“He’s not gonna be gone,” Gerard swore. “We, w-we’re gonna get to Ray’s house, and he’s gonna be right there, doing…” Gerard faltered. “I, I don’t fucking know what he’ll be doing, but he’ll be doing something. Mundane. It’ll be mundane. And stupid. And very much Ryan.” Gerard winced. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“I can tell,” Frank snorted. He reached down to his leg and put his hand over Gerard’s to show that he wasn’t actually upset with Gerard. Gerard pulled into Ray’s driveway, and again Frank was jealous of how the guy had an actual, legitimate house, all to his own family. No strangers beyond the walls, no need to keep your voice down after hours, no need to be conscientious for fucking anything. Two yards and a gate and real privacy.

The perfect way to live if you wanted to murder someone. Frank wondered if Bert lived in a real house too. It would make sense.

Frank scrambled out of the car and ran to the front door, slamming his open palm on it to try and get the attention of anyone inside. It was almost time, almost five, and Frank distantly realized that he probably should have waited to see if Ryan would have shown up at the diner at the allotted time, but he didn’t give two fucks— he needed to know if Ryan was okay, and he needed to know right now.

A woman opened the door, and Frank could definitely tell she was Ray’s mother. There wasn’t anything definable, he just kinda knew. She had the same eyes and the same look of tired determination. 

“Is Ryan here?” Frank asked, not even bothering with being polite.

The woman looked Frank up and down, noticing the jacket first and foremost. “Which one are you?” 

“Hi Mrs. Ortiz!” Gerard greeted a little breathlessly, jogging up awkwardly from behind Frank. The woman’s eyes lit up and she smiled warmly, and yeah, that was definable— Ray and Mrs. Ortiz smiled the same. “I know I haven’t been around in a while, so you may not recog—”

“Gerard Way, don’t you dare introduce yourself like you’re some kind of stranger,” she chuckled, opening her arms and pulling Gerard into her chest once Gerard was close enough. Gerard melted into the embrace, obviously finding it familiar and comforting. “Haven’t seen you in ages, child! How’s that little ankle biter brother of yours? How’s he enjoying the coast?”

“Really well, Mrs. Ortiz,” Gerard responded with the type of politeness you’d expect when talking to an adult, but having a softer edge that spoke of familiarity. “He sends letters, sometimes. We get report cards mostly, and he’s doing really well in all of his classes. He wants to work in the space program, the one we have against the Russians. He says that some people are really interested in his work with perpetual motion.”

Mrs. Ortiz chuckled. “That boy always had a mind beyond my own.”

Gerard nodded. “I’m sorry to show up like this, but do you know where Ryan Ross could be? He was supposed to be here.”

She nodded. “He’s upstairs, with my son. They’re talking about something very intense, I think. Ryan seemed pretty serious when he showed up here. Have you seen the bandages on his neck? They seem awful. Do you know Ryan, Gerard? I know you haven’t put on a jacket, which is a decision I completely stand by, but maybe you know him?”

“I do, kinda,” Gerard said, suddenly anxious to get going upstairs. Not as much as Frank, though. Frank looked ready to barrel past Mrs. Ortiz and storm upstairs. He’d been given verbal confirmation of Ryan’s safety, but words meant little compared to what the eyes could see. “Could we maybe check on him?”

Mrs. Ortiz nodded and stepped aside. Frank brushed past her and almost ran upstairs. He heard Gerard apologizing for his behavior, and really didn’t care. Frank didn’t even bother knocking on Ray’s door— he just threw the damn thing open like it was his house and felt so relieved when he saw Ryan sitting on the floor that he could punch someone in the stomach.

“You look like you ran the trenches,” Ryan commented dryly, though Frank could see the latent concern in his brow. The concern died, though, when Gerard showed up just behind Frank, smiling awkwardly. Ray actually perked up when he saw Gerard and waved, and Gerard waved back hesitantly. Frank wondered how long it really had been since they’d seen each other. “I can see you found him,” Ryan continued. “What’s got you so worked up? Figured this was the best case scenario.”

“Gerard just made me realize that Bert could come after you,” Frank told him, knowing that bullshitting Ryan about this sort of thing was just dumb. “The whole thing about liking my face? Last time he said that to me, he tried to choke you out.”

“And what, you thought he was gonna hit me with his car too?” Ryan grimaced. “Frankie, I’ve been talking with Ray, and I don’t think you get how serious this is. Bert knows you’re gay now.”

“I’m not gay,” Frank said automatically.

“Fucking curious or whatever,” Ryan amended with a roll of his eyes. “Point is, he knows you wanna peg another boy.”

“Wait, you told Ryan?” Gerard asked Frank in a small voice.

“He tells me everything,” Ryan said. “And what he doesn’t tell me when awake, he tells me in his sleep. I won’t tell anyone, and really, don’t be upset that he told me. Telling me is about as significant as him eating breakfast.”

Gerard seemed only slightly mollified by this.

“He knows you wanna peg a boy,” Ryan continued, redirecting his attention to Frank. “He just killed two people for that. Okay? I know you know this, but I don’t think you fucking get it. This is your fucking life, Frank. This is him, standing between you and Gerard, intending to put you under six feet of dirt before he lets you take what he thinks is his.”

“I really don’t get what you think I don’t get,” Frank sighed.

“He could tell people, Frankie,” Ryan stressed. “He could go out and tell people that will react just as badly as him. Our classmates alone could fuck you up. The kids from Westfield would love to kill the 175 from Williamstown. He could tell someone from the church or something, he could ruin your life without actually ending it. A-and I’m not sure which one is worse for you.”

“Fuck, Ryan,” Frank sighed again. “Can we please, just… I don’t want to think about it. Not right now. So please— forget it for now. I’m just so fucking happy you’re okay, and that’s it. And I’ve got Gee right here, and we’re making progress, I, I think.” Frank looked to his friend beseechingly. “I really need you to just let me not worry about fucking anything right now. I just need to relax. Please.”

Ryan pursed his lips, then glanced to Ray, and then nodded.

“Gerard will stay with me tonight,” Ray announced, looking fondly at Gerard. I haven’t been able to really see him for months.”

“You know why that is,” Gerard actually whimpered. “Please. I need to take my mom’s car home. She needs it for work tomorrow.”

“Then you and I will drive it home, and then walk back here together. You’re still staying,” Ray said, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll lie out the mattress and everything. It’ll be just like old times! Back when Mikey, you, and I used to have sleepovers nearly every night.” Ray smiled softly to himself. “I’ve missed those days. Especially Mikey.”

Gerard ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

Ray shook his head. “Dinner’s soon,” he told everyone. “Would you maybe like to stay? Meet my parents?”

“I was really fucking rude to your mother,” Frank told Ray with a wince. “Sorry.”

“She’ll understand,” Ray reassured him. “Come have dinner.”

. . .

Frank went home with a belly full of spaghetti and the reminiscent taste of a chaste kiss from Gerard. 

The pasta had been so good, but the kiss had been that much better. He honestly hadn’t even registered that Ray now knew about him and Gee, but Ray hadn’t seen upset at all, hadn’t seemed like he cared, really, or maybe he’d known about Gerard all along, and just accepted Frank to be whatever. Again, Frank was realizing that he should’ve attached himself more securely to Ray a long time ago. This kid was a fucking saint.

Gerard had met Frank on the porch as he and Ryan had been leaving, reaching out for Frank’s hands with a timid shyness that made Frank’s heart melt, and made Frank tighten his grip on Gerard’s hands, just to let Gee know that he wanted the touch. 

Gerard had said small words, small phrases, things that weren’t important enough to remember because they’d just been things Gerard had said to keep himself from saying something else. Then Gerard had leaned in, haltingly, eyes darting around as he paused, obviously scared to make such a move in public. Frank had taken it upon himself to close the distance, leaning in and kissing Gerard softly and carefully, a short kiss that ended as quickly as it had happened. Gerard had been the one to pull away, but he had been smiling.

Ryan and Frank had walked home, then parted ways, one of the few nights that they didn’t keep an eye on the other. Frank was grateful for that.

. . .

Frank woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of something burning and a really loud noise that ended abruptly. At first, he’d thought it was his dad burning something in the oven, or his mother leaving the iron on a pair of slacks too long, except it was too late for any of the possibilities. Frank sat up with a groan and rubbed at his eyes, looking around blearily. He heard a faint whistle, high pitched and cracking at the edges, like air escaping a kettle, along with a cracking that sounded like wrinkling paper. He noticed an orange light coming from his door, though the light was inconsistent and flickering like there were tiny people walking around.

It was also unbearably hot.

Frank’s heart stuttered in his chest and he opened the door to see flames had engulfed the entire living room and kitchen. He stared at the fire for three seconds too long before running as close as he could, suddenly struck with the idea that his parents could be trapped. But their bedroom door was open, as Frank could see from around the corner, and that was as close as he could get. Literally everything was on fire. The fire alarm wasn’t even blinking, from what he could see int he split second that he took to check. He was more concerned with how he was going to _get the fuck out of there_.

He scrambled back into his room and threw open his own window, but he was on the third floor, and looking down at the street below from this height, knowing his only option was to jump, was making his stomach churn. He saw a fire engine on the street that had a huge hose spraying water at his apartment, and then he saw his dad, thank god. Frank started yelling and waving his arms, screaming for attention, and his dad pointed Frank out, looking sickeningly relieved while still somehow looking completely destroyed. The firefighters pulled out that trampoline that looked like it would give out the second Frank landed on it, but his door suddenly burst open behind him, heat and fire pouring into his room, and Frank didn’t have time to hesitate. He threw himself out of the window and landed badly on his shoulder. Frank rolled off the trampoline with some difficulty and ran to his dad, but his father wouldn’t speak to him. His father stared up at the fire like he was waiting for someone to come out of the window like Frank had.

Frank kept asking questions, though, shouting a demand for answers at everyone, blinded by his panic and fumbling with the English language. He looked around for anyone that could tell him what was going on, then stopped short when he saw Bert down the street.

The other boy was watching the apartment burn, watched the flames spread, and casually smoked a cigarette.

Frank looked back to his dad, wanting to ask why Bert was there, when he realized who wasn't.

His mother.

It took him an eternity of nothing to realize that he had been woken up by the scream his mother let out as she was burned alive.


	7. Like Trying to Attain Symmetry with Odd Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the lovely [cemeterydrivethru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cemeterydrivethru) for actually muddling through the typos and not lynching me
> 
>  
> 
> [that tumblr yo](http://wellthisisprettyrisque.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> **Daily Dose of Dialogue Definitions**
> 
>  
> 
> Zorros: the jitters  
> Word from the Bird: the truth  
> Go for pinks: a drag race where the stakes are the car’s pink slip  
> Play dead: not snitch/keep a secret  
> Fade outs: someone who broke a promise
> 
> (anyone who doesn’t use the word “frankly” in a Frerard fic is failing to capitalize on an opportune moment)

Frank lied in the hotel bed, wide awake for the rest of the night, staring up at the ceiling and missing the image of Cthulhu. His father was gone, had wandered to a bar after the firefighters and police and finally let them go around three A.M.. Frank didn’t think his father would be home for a very long time, and he didn’t really expect him to be. Frank knew his father wouldn’t ever be the same. Neither would Frank. But in a different way.

He wanted to be with someone. He wanted company. He wanted Ryan, but knew that his friend would be so fucking tired after the shit that had happened today. He _really_ wanted to see Gerard. Wanted to go to that boy for comfort. He wanted to lie among all those dirty clothes and comics and books and listen to Gerard talk, or talk to Gerard, just ignore everything that actually mattered. He wanted to curl up on that shitty bed and let Gerard paint or draw or rant or whatever, wanted to have Gerard lie beside him and tell him that nothing mattered but the way the moonlight aesthetic compared to the sunlight aesthetic for his ceiling. 

Frank’s entire body zeroed in on that ceiling whenever he saw Gerard’s bedroom. It was a statement to the things that occupied Gerard’s mind’s eye, the things Gerard saw when he imagined a better place. Generally people thought of a deserted island or an isolated mountain lodge, but Gerard saw space— the most vast and empty and terrifyingly fascinating thing in arguable existence. He loved that Gerard thought of something so big and lonely when he thought of a “happy place.” Because with the emptiness came thousands of possibilities and places to explore; things to learn and people to meet, if people even did exist up there. Frank loved that Gerard’s natural instinct was the weirder side of the universe.

He wanted to be with Gerard more than anything. His heart physically ached for the other boy. He wanted to be at Gerard’s side, wanted to let Gerard force him to forget what had happened and only know Gerard, everything that was Gerard, everything that could only be Gerard at that ceiling and the monsters depicted above.

Frank wanted to be with Gerard more than everything. He felt like he couldn’t breathe the air in the hotel room. It was too thick, too full of smoke that wasn’t actually in the air. He felt sluggish and slow and the ceiling was too white to mean anything to him, too bland to actually pull him from this zombified state. He felt as dead as his mother was, knew the firefighters were probably securing what was left of her corpse from the wreckage of what was once his home. Frank hoped his father would just buy a new place instead of forcing them both to live in whatever would be built in the apartment’s stead.

Frank put his hands up to cover his face so he couldn’t see the ceiling and so that the ghost of his mother couldn’t see him cry.

. . .

Frank went to Ryan’s home early in the morning and stood in front of the townhouse without a backpack or any sort of supplies, not even wearing his jacket. It had been burned with the apartment, along with everything to his name. All of his sides were gone. All of his clothes. All of his books. His copy of Frankenstein was gone, and that hurt more than he’d ever thought it would. Of all the things he missed, a fucking book was the one thing that made his heart clench.

As Ryan came down the steps, Frank only then noticed that he still had soot in his hair. Was still in his pajamas. He was wearing his dad’s shoes, lucky that he could fit them. His dad had come home late/early enough for Frank to take the shoes and go to school. He was sure the office would tell him to leave the second they got wind that Frank was even present, but until then, he was going to go to class and pretend everything was normal and that he was in one piece.

Ryan approached Frank with cautious steps, ducking low to get to eye level. “Frankie?” he called out with aching carefulness. “What’s wrong?”

“My apartment burnt down last night,” Frank told Ryan, stating the fact with clinical hollowness. “My mom didn’t make it out.”

Ryan gaped at Frank, eyes wide and tears slowly brimming as he moved forward and wrapped Frank up in a hug Frank had known he needed. “Oh my god, Frankie,” Ryan choked out, squeezing him tightly enough to hurt. “Frankie, Frankie, Frankie! I’m so fucking sorry, Frankie. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Frank lied, his words muffled by Ryan’s shoulder. “I’m just gonna go to class until they say I can’t. I kinda wanna see Gee.”

Frank felt Ryan nodded before Ryan pulled away, his hands remaining on Frank’s shoulders to keep them both steady. “We’ll walk together,” he told Frank. “I’ll ditch class when you get set home, won’t leave your side for a fucking second, okay? We’ll grab Gerard and maybe Ray. I’m sure they won’t mind playing hooky, especially for something like this. We’ll get you somewhere fucking safe, okay? We’ll take care of you.”

“I need Gerard and his ceiling,” Frank murmured.

Ryan looked mildly confused by this, but he graciously didn’t say anything. He just nodded again and started walking, pulling Frank along by his arm. “We’ll get you to Gerard, and his ceiling. I’ll grab you some ice cream or maybe a hot dog or whatever the fuck you want, okay? I’ll get you anything you need. Just say the word, yeah? I’ll fucking steal a car and drive to New York for that pizza you like if you need me to.”

“Thanks, Ry,” he said softly. Ryan just nodded for a third time and led the way, because he knew Frank didn’t even know which way was up right now.

. . .

Gerard was harder to find before school, but Frank eventually had the sense to check behind the school, where he had initially met Gerard on campus. He had been right to finally look here, before Gerard was crouched against the wall, drawing something on the ground with chalk that he’d probably stolen from a classroom. Frank’s footsteps were heavy with exhaustion, so Gerard heard him approach. At first, he’d looked slightly bewildered at their presence, but then he’d just looked horribly worried. Frank hadn’t had time to look in a mirror, so it wouldn’t surprise him if he actually looked that bad.

“Gee,” Frank breathed, voice cracking with emotion. He got to Gerard’s side, then dropped onto the concrete, hard on his knees. He dropped into Gerard’s side and breathed in the smell of nicotine and smoke and found himself sickened by it, but not enough to pull away. Gerard wrapped Frank up in his arms, looking over Frank’s head to Ryan for explanation.

“My mother’s dead,” Frank said before Ryan could speak up. “Everything’s gone. It’s all burned away.

“Oh my god,” Gerard whispered. Frank looked up to see Gerard looked just as upset as Ryan had, but with a new depth of trepidation, almost like he knew something that Frank didn’t. But that wasn’t possible, and Frank didn’t want to think about the possibility anyways.

“Can we go home, Gee?” Frank asked. He was deciding to bypass the plan of waiting to get kicked out. He just needed Cthulhu. “You and me and Ryan. Can we please go? I don’t want to be here right now. I don’t want to see so much color.” He didn’t care enough to try and make sense.

“We, we can go,” Gerard said hesitantly. He stood and pulled Frank up with him gently. “Ryan? are you okay with this?”

“Frank shouldn’t stay here,” Ryan said. “I’d take him home, but…”

“We can go to my place,” Gerard told them. “He, he wants the ceiling, right? He wants my room.” Gerard looked down at Frank. “I can’t understand why, but… We’ll give him what he needs.”

Ryan nodded and they led Frank to the front of the school. He kept to Gerard’s side,not caring who thought what if any random student noticed the way he was touching his whole side against Gerard’s. Frank looked up to make sure he didn’t trip over a curb, then saw someone that triggered a memory of the fire.

“Bert,” Frank breathed, looking at the other boy who was across the way, down the street. Just like he’d been last night. He remembered seeing Bert standing there, clear as day and bright as the sun with the fire from the apartment and the cigarette lighting up Bert’s face.

“I was stupid to believe that my enemy has the same bedtime as me,” Frank said in a monotone, his brain unable to process what it already knew. He just leaned further into Gerard and watched Bert watch them like Bert wanted to kill someone (again). Frank no longer doubted that he could, but Frank wasn’t afraid of him. It was stupid to not be afraid of Bert, but again, Frank wasn’t afraid. He didn’t want to be afraid. He wanted to stop feeling empty and everything at the same time. He wanted to be with Gerard.

. . .

Gerard had his arms around Frank and Frank was curled up with his hips between Gerard’s knees. Gerard and Ryan had cleared off his bed and now they were listening to the sides collection Gerard had of War of the Worlds. Frank listened to Orson Welles unwittingly terrify the US through a clever story and truly enjoyed the heat coming from Gerard’s body. Everything felt cold compared to the fire he’d survived. He preferred the heat. It reminded him of his mother.

“How’d you get a copy of this?” Ryan asked as he stared up at Gerard’s ceiling from the foot of the bed. He must have completely understood Frank’s obsession by then. Ryan was looking in a particular corner, one that showed Saturn, glowing with its rings of stellar debris or whatever made those rings. Frank liked to think Ryan was finding the same comfort in the images that Frank did. It meant a lot to him to know that Ryan was doing okay, through all of this. Frank couldn’t handle anyone falling apart right now, because he could barely keep himself together.

Frank quickly switched that train of thought, because it would mean he’d have to acknowledge his own turmoil. He was stubbornly avoiding that for now.

“My brother found it in our old neighbor’s garage,” Gerard explained softly. Frank smiled a bit when Gerard started to draw patterns and faces and random things in Frank’s hip with his fingertip. “The old man died suddenly, and our mother sent me and Mikey to go help clean out his house. Ray was there, too. We found a bunch of records in there, some of them older than I thought possible. Everything was dirty and dead and it was nice. Mikey especially liked it. He found old propaganda posters from the earlier war. The old man was a veteran, he’d been drafted twice, too. He had all these medals and pins shoved into the darkest corner of the garage, like he was trying to hide from them and what they meant.”

“War is dumb,” Ryan sighed. “We’d be better off killing ourselves than each other. It’ll take care of the death part much more efficiently, and no one will have to die for something they don’t believe in. If we just killed ourselves for that one religious belief, and left everyone else out of it, the world would be a better place.”

“That’s pretty definite, don’t you think?” Gerard asked, though Frank could see that Gerard’s eyes were lighting up at the prospect of an intelligent discussion with another person who seemed equally as inquisitive.

“All death is finite,” Ryan replied, tearing his eyes from Saturn to give Gerard his attention. “Every circumstance is. Death is finite, but life isn’t infinite. There’s no such thing as infinity, save what’s above our heads, miles into emptiness. Life isn’t like that. Being a human and being alive isn’t that vast in its possibilities, so we have to be careful, and we can’t throw our lives away for no good reason.”

“Is there anything that you think is good enough to die for?” Gerard quieted curiously.

“Love,” Ryan said. “Loyalty. But a special type of loyalty. Loyalty in protecting someone you love. You should never, ever seek out someone to hurt them, let alone kill them, but that doesn’t mean people won’t seek you out to hurt someone you love. When you’re protecting yourself and someone else that you care about— that’s when you know it’s a good cause to die for.”

“Would you die for someone?” Gerard asked.

“Would you die for Brendon?” Frank elaborated. He couldn’t remember if he’d told Gerard who Ryan was with or not.

“Brendon?” Gerard gasped, a grin growing on his face. “I love that kid! I painted the sets of Beauty and the Beast, the musical he starred in. He’s such a sweet boy. And his voice is incredible! I’ve never heard anything like him. You two are dating?” Gerard giggled, squeezing Frank tighter as a sort of impulse. “That’s cute. Really cute. You two must look really good together.”

“They so fucking do,” Frank chortled. Ryan narrowed his eyes at Frank with a faint blush.

“Oh my god, not like that,” Gerard corrected sheepishly. “Just… when you’re holding hands. Or standing next to each other. Talking about dumb things, like what you had for breakfast and what you wish you’d had. Walking to class together and saying goodbye. You two must look really good, side by side. You and Brendon. The golden couple. Golden like the sun.”

“He is my sun,” Ryan said, looking back up to Saturn. “He’s beautiful. He smiles like he’s the sun, too, all bright and light and pure. I’d burn up in his presence if I wasn’t careful. Though he really can suck the energy from me like some sort of reactor. Is that a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard said. “I wish I could call Mikey and ask about the science stuff he’s learned.”

“Mikey’s smart?” Ryan grinned. “Frank could use some of that.”

Frank kicked uselessly out at Ryan, but kept his eyes on Gerard.

“Mikey always was the favorite child,” Gerard told them, sounding wistful, like he didn’t begrudge Mikey for being the favorite, but also believed Mikey should have been favored. “He wanted to build things— robots and spaceships like in my comic books. He wanted to explore what was beyond our sky and would tell me about the dreams he had of flying headfirst into Jupiter’s eye. He could do all of this crazy math in his head, and could fix the car engine after only one month of my dad teaching him. Before he was gone.”

“Please don’t talk about Bert,” Frank cut in, an urgent edge to his voice. Ryan heard it clear as fucking day, and he apparently wasn’t going to let it go.

“What did Bert do?” Ryan asked, eyes narrowed.

“I’m so sorry, Frankie,” Gerard said in a rush, grip tightening even further.

“What does that even mean?” Frank demanded of Gerard. “What do you know that I don’t? I know that I saw him there. I came out of place, jumped out of the fucking window, barely made it, and I saw my dad, him, but not my mom. Why was Bert there, Gerard? You sound like you know why. Why was Bert there, and not my mother?” Frank already knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Gerard knew the same with more evidence than Frank.

Gerard looked distressed. “I didn’t know why he needed my lighter,” he explained in a harsh jolt of his voice, like he was forcing the words from between his lips and nearly losing with every letter. “He just came in through the window a-and demanded I give it to him. He had this can underneath his arm that was covered with a rag. I thought he was just drinking something heavy and needed a lighter for a smoke, I-I never would have guessed what he’d be doing! I had no idea he was going to burn you o-or anyone until you told me at school today, Frankie, I’m so sorry!”

“Bert did this?” Ryan asked with deadly calmness as he sat up. Saturn was a distant image in his mind’s eye now. “That fucking monster… He did this, too? He’s killed again? _He killed Frank’s mother?”_

“I’m so sorry,” Gerard whimpered uselessly.

Frank just turned his head into Gerard’s chest, then lifted his entire body to move upwards and kiss Gerard, because the distraction was better than anything else, and Gerard still tasted like the worst decision Frank could ever make. The touch of their lips was enough to muffle the roaring in his ears, enough to drag his senses away from the smell of smoke and the touch of fire. He stopped imagining what it was like for his mother to burn alive and only let himself feel Gerard’s chest expand and contrast against his own, synchronizing their breaths so he could feel like a human being again. He was a mimic. He wasn’t alive. Wasn’t dead. Wasn’t anything. But Gerard gave him a way to pretend.

Gerard seemed to know that Frank needed this, and wrapped light arms around Frank’s waist to keep him just as close. Sinking back into the bed, Frank lied stretched out on top of Gerard’s body, holding to the other boy’s face and ignoring the dip in the bed at his knees that was Ryan trying to get his attention. He focused on Gerard and only Gerard until he saw spots. Then he kept going, until he couldn’t move much on his own, sluggishly just tasting Gerard, not breathing anymore, holding his breath so he could really feel Gerard’s air and—

Everything went black for three seconds, and then he woke up with Ryan above him wearing a murderous expression. The roaring was back and twice as loud, and Frank felt the familiar lethargy that came with passing out.

“What kind of crazy fucker holds his breath until he black out anyways?” Ryan was demanding, angry and vindictive like a possessive mother. “You fucking idiot, fucking crazy, stupid, idiot.”

Gerard looked equally distressed from over Ryan’s shoulder, but he was back a foot or so, giving Ryan room to work. This wasn’t actually the first time Frank had forced his brain to reset using the blissful unawareness of unconsciousness. The first time Frank had gotten into a real fight with his parents, when he was thirteen, he’d gone upstairs and held his breath till he blacked out and everything just reset. This wasn’t even the second time, but it was definitely the first time Ryan or anyone else had been here to witness it.

“It’s fine,” Frank croaked. His mouth felt weirdly wet. It was usually super dry after blacking out, but kissing Gerard beforehand had probably helped the matter. Frank smacked his lips and wondered how much of this spit was actually his. It didn’t gross him out that much. Frank sat up and reached out for Gerard, tangling his fingers in the other boy’s hair to pull him in for another kiss, but Gerard turned his head and backed away, shaking his head quickly.

“Not if you’re gonna do that again,” Gerard said with anxious eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like. It felt like you died against my lips. I felt your brain die against me.”

“Jesus, Gee, it isn’t that big of a deal,” Frank sighed in exasperation. “It’s just something I do sometimes when I’m too…”

Empty was the word that hung from his lips, but he knew that Ryan and Gerard weren’t on the same page. “Being sad isn’t a reason to scare us like that,” Ryan huffed. “You can’t do that again, Frankie. I nearly had a heart attack, and Gerard is three seconds from crying. Do you like making him cry?”

“Fuck off, Ryan,” Frank told him hollowly. Ryan flinched in surprise, blindsided by the cold words. Frank couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty because _he couldn’t fucking feel._

Gerard made him feel.

Frank looked to the other boy curiously. If the kiss alone and given him the clarity to reset, who knew what more could do for his psyche. He knew he needed to fix this before he actually hurt someone irrevocably, hurt Gerard with more than just flippant, careless comments like he already had with Ryan. He had to get his brain and body back on track. 

Once he felt again, he could go after Bert.

Decision made then, Frank moved forward again, towards Gerard, cupping the boy’s neck in his hands and refusing to let Gerard move away, kissing him with bruising impatience. Gerard gasped against his mouth, lips parting, though it could just be instinct. Frank suddenly realized that Bert had done this to Gerard, and that made something like fire flicker to life in his chest. A good sign and a bad omen. Frank shoved Gerard onto the bed with newfound intentions. Bert had already done this, so Frank was going to do it better.

He parted the kiss so he could tear Gee’s shirt off from over Gerard’s head, tossing it onto that mountain of clothing/fire hazard that was starting to disgust Frank because it reminded him of how easily things fell apart and went up in flames if you weren’t careful. Frank then went to Gerard’s pants, tugging them down Gerard’s hips, and Ryan was up in a flash and out of the room with hurried explanation of “not wanting to see this.”

“Wait, wait, Frankie,” Gerard called out, grabbing Frank’s hands that were moving in a flurry of motion. “A-are you… What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Frank stated.

Gerard flushed and bit his lip. “Are you sure?”

“Fuck yes,” he insisted. He needed to replace Bert. Bert was a monster who took dreams and lives. Frank didn’t want Gerard to feel those same hands that took lives on his body anymore. “Now we’re getting your pants off and you’re going to tell me what to do.”

Gerard nodded shakily, in a hurry to get his pants off now as well. He tugged his boxers down with them, and the first thing Frank noticed was how fucking pale Gerard’s thighs were, milky white and soft. Then he noticed Gerard’s dick. His brain stuttered over the sight, because he’d never really been willingly affronted with the penis of another man, Thinking about something versus actually seeing it was always a jolting experience. He wasn’t revolted, though. He was actually pretty fucking curious. 

Frank reached out with a steady hand and touched just the head with his fingertip, looking up at Gerard when he gasped softly, like he hadn’t expected Frank to grow a pair so quickly. Frank was always a braver sort of idiot. Frank grinned to himself, realizing how easy this was going to be. He had a dick. Gerard had a dick. Frank knew how to make his own dick work, so he, by default, knew how to make Gerard’s dick work.

“I can do this,” Frank said confidently. He reached over and pulled Gerard closer, so they were sitting up together, face to face. Gerard looked shy by the sudden closeness and shook his head so his hair would fall into his face, but Frank wasn’t having any of that bullshit. He reached up and brushed the hair from Gerard’s face, then leaned in to kiss while grabbing Gerard’s dick clumsily and doing his best to stroke the flaccid cock. He’d never done something like this before, not even for himself. He made a point of touching his dick with intent only when he was already “interested.” But he didn’t think he was going to have to fumble around like this for long, because Gerard was already making little noises that Frank eagerly swallowed, and Gerard’s cock was already hardening in his hand. This was so easy.

“Tell me if I fuck up,” Frank requested anyways, sitting back from Gerard’s lips and looking down to how was touching him, then getting distracted by Gerard’s body. Gee was adorable, really. He had a bit of pudge in his stomach and his sides were all soft skin that was as pale as his thighs. There were bruises, yeah, bruises that made Frank’s stomach clench (which meant he was feeling again), but were mostly around Gerard’s chest and the sides of his ribs. Frank liked watching Gerard’s stomach suck in erratically as the other boy breathed with the pleasure Frank was inducing. It was so fucking cute, and Frank couldn’t deny himself the urge to reach forward and place his palm against Gerard’s stomach, feeling his organs work, then moving the hand up Gerard’s chest. He accidentally brushed a nipple, and with the way Gee’s breath caught, he realized that maybe Gee worked the same as a girl. 

He started today more attention to the little nubs of flesh, pinching gently, testing the waters of Gerard’s pain threshold.

“H-harder,” Gerard choked out, hips starting to cant upwards into Frank’s hand. Frank arched a brow, a bit surprised by the request, because he would have figured that someone who was beaten half to death every other day wouldn’t enjoy pain during sex. Still, Frank wasn’t complaining. He only really liked sex when he saw the bloody evidence for days after. Frank dug a blunt nail into Gerard’s nipple, and the other boy cried out, cock jumping in Frank’s hand. That was new. And oddly satisfying. Frank grinned wide, baring his teeth before ducking his head and sinking his teeth into the flesh. Gerard cried out, looking down at Frank with his pupils blown wide. Frank ran his tongue over the nub in a silent apology, and Gerard just moaned wantonly like he didn’t know what to do.

“What would you say to letting me fuck you?” Frank asked, getting straight to the point. He was confident that Gerard was definitely turned on enough to be ready for Frank to penetrate. He’d fucked enough girls to know when they were ready for the next step. Gerard’s cock twitched again and Frank smirked. “I’m taking that as a yes,” he said, seeing that Gerard was way too strung out to form intelligent words. Frank lifted one of Gerard’s legs up after unzipping his own pants and pulling his cock from the denim. He lined himself up with Gerard’ entrance, missing Gerard’s slurred protest of confusion before trying to slip the head inside, confident that Gerard had to be wet enough for this.

Gerard cried out again, but it was much worse. It was pain and surprise, and Gerard jolted up the bed and away from Frank, all traces of pleasure gone from his expression. Frank froze in place and tried not to be hurt by this. He must’ve done something wrong. He had to have done something wrong.

Ryan stomped/ran down the stairs. “I don’t give a fuck if I see your dicks!” he exclaimed, jaw clenched in anger. “I’m not gonna let you fucking hurt someone because you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing!”

“What did I do wrong?” Frank asked, genuinely wanting an answer. He moved forward and ran his fingers through Gerard’s hair, leaning down to kiss him. Gerard didn’t pull away, so that meant he wasn’t actually scared or upset with Frank. “I wanted to be the opposite of Bert,” Frank murmured sadly. “I wanted to keep this from hurting you. In the bad way. I didn’t want to make this bad for you.” Frank had wanted to feel something, but not this, not this lingering guilt. Gerard’s expression softened into something of understanding, and he leaned in to take his turn in initiating the kiss.

“You’re such an idiot,” Ryan huffed, shaking his head. “Is there any lotion around here?”

“Th-there’s some Palmolive in the drawer,” Gerard told Ryan with dripping embarrassment. Ryan found the bottle and tossed it onto the bed, near Frank’s thigh.

“What you’re going to do is listen to me,” Ryan told Frank with the firm caring of a parent. Frank steeled himself for the worst sex talk of his life after grabbing the comforter and covering Gerard’s body. He’d already tucked himself back into his pants, and was sitting on the bed, shirtless, waiting for Ryan to educate him.

“Take that lotion,” Ryan began, going extra slow because he was an asshole. “And put that shit all over your fingers. Fucking everywhere. You want your fingers to be completely drenched, and don’t rub any of it into your skin, either. Just have massive globs and use that to put one— _one_ — finger inside your partner. And you’re going to move that finger in and out and around and do whatever the fuck that partner wants you to do until they tell you that it’s okay for you to add the second, then the third. And once your partner is one hundred percent confident that they are ready for you, you’re gonna put half of that fucking bottle on your dick, and only then do you fuck him.”

“My brain just treated him like a girl,” Frank confessed, shamefaced. “Now that I actually have a clear head and aren’t so, uh, caught up in Gee, I can see how stupid that was of me. Butts don’t salivate. Or whatever it’s called.”

“Lubricate,” Ryan corrected with an exaggeration drag of his eyes. “That has to be the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said.”

“Caught up in me?” Gerard queried quietly, a tiny smile on his face. Frank was beyond relieved that he wasn’t actually hurt.

“You’re in no place to be taking this sort of step in your relationship,” Ryan continued, in full-on lecture mode. “This is a huge commitment, and Gerard doesn’t deserve you making rash decisions. I love you, Frankie, and I know you look out for us, but you’re not in the right place to be doing this sort of thing, something so significant for you both.”

“That’s bullshit,” Frank grumbled while knowing that Ryan was actually right.

“Be the fucking adult and just give him a blowjob,” Ryan huffed.

“I-I’m okay,” Gerard interrupted with a sheepish grin. “Not really, uh…”

Frank frowned, then padded at the comforter, and was extremely disappointed to see Gerard wasn’t even hard anymore. “No fair,” he huffed. “I fucking ruined it. See, Gee? I fucking ruin everything. I’m fucking Bert, aren’t I? I hurt him during sex, took away his stiffy, and now I’m just fucking useless. I’m the worst.” Frank dropped onto the bed, lying on his side, staring at Gerard’s cute hips, loving the way the flesh curled over his ass. Gerard was so full of chubbiness and perfection that Frank found his heart swelling like a stuffed balloon and making him feel more like he was lying on a cloud of anxious butterflies rather than a mattress. Frank frowned to himself, then leaned in to nip slightly at Gerard’s, and Gerard jumped a little, which was even cuter, and Frank realized he was a little in love.

“Oh fuck,” Frank said aloud, because there was a disconnect between his thinking brain and his acting brain and he definitely needed to talk to Ryan. Ryan was here, though. Ryan was totally here, Frank could talk to him, but so was Gerard, and this was about Gerard. He couldn’t talk to Ryan about Gerard when Gerard was in the room.

“I need to talk to Ryan,” Frank blurted out, sitting up quickly. He kissed Gerard’s cheek, then bolted up the stairs, knowing Ry would follow him, Ryan always knew when Frank wasn’t bullshitting about needing something, and Frank really needed this. He didn’t even think to look back to make sure Gerard was okay with this, he’d kissed Gerard’s cheek, he’d totally let Gerard know he wasn’t upset about anything Gerard had done, Gee had to understand that, right? Gerard had to understand. 

“What the fuck is wrong now?” Ryan asked, sounding tired.

“I just fell in love with Gee and it doesn’t feel good,” Frank told Ryan with an urgent edge to his voice. “I fucking fell in love with him, Ryan. I fell in love with his sides and his ribcage and his ears and eyes and smile and everything. I’m fucking in love with him, a-and it took one fucking second. Literally one second, one tiny moment, and suddenly— it’s like everything I know is different now! And Bert’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna actually kill me, and Gerard was always worth that, but now I’m in love with him. I’m in love with him!”

“I’m glad Gerard’s mom isn’t home,” was the first thing out of Ryan’s mouth. Frank blinked, then narrowed his eyes.

“Are you not taking this serious?” he asked. “How can you not take this seriously? This is serious, Ryan.”

“I know what you’re going through,” Ryan sighed.”I do, Frankie. I felt this way with Brendon, I still feel this way with him. Brendon, he’s…” Ryan shrugged. “He’s my Gerard. You know that, right? He’s my Gerard, and he makes me happy and scared and sick to my stomach while making me feel like I can fly. It’s terrifying, and I can never fucking get enough of him.” Ryan cracked a grin, and it was one part sardonic, and two parts weary resignation. “People like you and I… we aren’t good at shit like this. But we owe it to Brendon and Gerard to try.”

“What does seeing Brendon make you wanna do?” Frank asked, wanting to know if he felt anything similar to Ryan, if they really were alike in this matter too.

Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. Seeing him just… There’s this lump in my throat and in my chest and in my stomach, all at the same fucking time. Gives me zorros. Makes me wanna throw up and scream and dance and do something reckless all that the same time. Makes me wanna jump in the ocean from the pier and kiss him under the waves with the fish and sharks. Wanna show him the stars and moon and let him see the world through my eyes, let him see how I see him.”

Frank blinked almost sluggishly. 

“What do you feel when you see Gerard?” Ryan asked curiously.

“I just wanna pin him to the ground, squeeze his hips, and fuck him right,” Frank said. “But it’s only been a few minutes since I fell in love, and my dick is still hard.”

Ryan snorted and rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, Frank, jesus— for one moment, just one, I’d like you to be a romantic.”

“Not right now,” was all Frank said. He was feeling again, but it all felt fresh and raw and painful, like skinned knees and third degree burns. “I’m gonna go back downstairs and hold him and let him hold me at the same time.”

“Cuddle,” Ryan supplied. “The word you’re looking for is cuddle.”

“That,” Frank agreed. “I’m gonna do that. And then I’m gonna figure out how I’m gonna kill Bert.”

Ryan’s smile was gone. “Frank… Frankie, no. He’ll…”

“He’s not getting away with what he’s done,” was all Frank said as he went back into the basement. He crawled into Gerard’s arms and wrapped his arms around Gerard and didn’t say a word when Ryan eventually followed him. He was close to feeling nothing again, which was good. It gave him time to think about falling in love.

. . .

“What do you want to do about Bert?” Ray asked Ryan softly once he arrived at Gerard’s place. Ryan and Gerard were actually getting along pretty well despite Ryan’s earlier aggression towards Gerard, and were watching movies on Gerard’s TV set that had apparently been hidden under a pile of clothes all along. Ray had come over with banana bread and homemade lemonade. Both were basically gone, courtesy of Ryan and Gerard. Ray had brought Frank upstairs, and they sat at the kitchen table to talk about what they were going to do.

“Zacky and Davey both know what happened,” Ray murmured. “Or, something close. I didn’t tell them, they just saw your expression and put two and two together. They figured it out, Frankie, a-and they wanna let you know that they’re with whatever you choose to do. Word from the bird is that Billie J is too. I don’t know about Travis, I haven’t really had the chance to talk with him, but you’ve got nearly everyone. They’re willing to listen to what you have in mind.”

“You sure they don’t just wanna go for pinks?” Frank asked with a sneer. “Sure they’re not gonna sing? I don’t fucking trust them much after how they weren’t gonna do a damn thing after Bert killed those two poor boys. How can I trust them to play dead in front of Bert?”

Ray shook his head. “They’re not fade outs, Frankie, they’re your friends. Maybe not to the extent that Ryan is, but they’re still people you can trust. People you can truly rely on to have your back. They care about you and they care about what’s happening. They knew Bert’s beyond saving. They just want him gone so he stops hurting people. So he stops hurting you and Gerard.”

“None of them wanted to help before,” Frank reiterated, though his resolve was failing beneath the crushing weight of apprehension. He knew he couldn’t take Bert on all by himself. He didn’t even have wheels. “I can’t trust them. I shouldn’t.”

“You’d be dumb not to,” Ray stated.

Frank let his head drop down to hit the table. “Fuck this.”

Ray was quiet for a moment. “… Are you gonna be okay, Frankie?”

Frank didn’t lift his head. “My mom’s dead and I fell in love with Gerard while staring at his hip.”

Ray was just as quiet before laughing nervously. “Uh, yeah. Is that good? Not the first, part, of course not, n-never the first part, b-b-but about Gerard. Or was that a joke?” He winced. “Shit, Frankie, sorry. I’m bad at this kind of thing. Love is weird, a-and…” Ray trailed off, and only then did Frank looked up. Ray’s expression was downcast and his eyes looked into the distance, like he was remembering something he wished he could forget. Frank frowned and waited to see if Ray would keep talking. “Falling in love is hard,” Ray continued carefully. “Especially when they’re not around anymore.”

Frank grimaced. “Never knew you had the hots for a girl. Where’d she go?” He prayed to god she wasn’t dead. A lot of people were dead these days. Frank wanted to keep himself disconnected from loss before he became overwhelmed by how much shittier the world was.

“Uh, not a she,” Ray told Frank with a sheepish grin. Frank blinked sluggishly, lifting his head.

“Is everyone I know now gay?” he asked. “Like, you, and Ryan, and… I don’t get it. How could I have not known a single gay person, then all of a sudden, I’m surrounded.”

Ray shrugged. “I mean, you’re gay, so—”

“I’m not gay,” Frank interrupted.

Ray laughed. “You just told me you’re in love with Gerard!”

Frank pursed his lips. “Who’s the guy?”

“No one you know,” Ray hummed, obviously letting Frank remain in his ignorance for now. “But he went away a while ago. I haven’t seen him in years. I talk to him over the phone on holidays, but you know how expensive that can be, so even then, the conversations are short.” Ray sighed longingly. “I intend to go find him after high school. He lives in California now.”

“Ray, yes!” Frank suddenly exclaimed, grinning. “So are Ryan and I! And Brendon, I guess. Hopefully Gee, cause he wants to make comics there. But we can all fucking go, together! You can come with and we’ll get some shitty house and Brendon will go to college and Ryan will do whatever, cause he’s fucking Ryan, and we can afford it all together. We can do this!”

Ray looked hesitant.

“What’s wrong?” Frank asked cautiously.

“None of this matters if Bert kills you, Frankie…”

Frank’s hope hit the floor like a paratrooper with a faulty chute. He stared down at the table and tried to think of how he intended to keep himself or anyone else from dying. It had barely been a week and already Frank’s life was irrevocably changed. He hated to think of what would happen to his family now that this had happened. There hadn’t been much of a family in the first place, but his father…

“I need Bert in prison,” Frank said. “Permanently. But we can’t get him on this stuff, we won’t be able to get the police to believe this shit. We have to bring him to some sort of limit. Some sort of breaking point, where he’s truly fucking insane and ready to snap, and then we get the cops there. We let them see what a monster he is.”

“And how do you intend to get Bert to come with you?” Ray asked cautiously, looking like he already knew what Frank was thinking, and knowing he didn’t like it.

Frank sat up straight. “He wants me dead, right? Then he’ll have to come and fucking get me.”


	8. With Our Palliative Pills (Is This What Dying feels Like?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all good things must come to a bad end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the lovely [cemeterydrivethru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cemeterydrivethru) for actually muddling through the typos and not lynching me
> 
> [that tumblr yo](http://wellthisisprettyrisque.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> **Daily Dose of Dialogue Definitions**
> 
>  
> 
> Cube: a normal person  
> Classy chassis: great body  
> On the hook: in love  
> Paper shake: cheerleader or pom-pom girl  
> Pale: dull  
> D-D-T: “drop dead twice” (proper response: what, and look like you?)  
> Ice it: tell someone to forget something  
> Kustom: a custom built car  
> Sombrero: Cadillac hubcaps (for kustoms)  
> “C’mon, snake, let’s rattle!”: “may I have the next dance?”  
> “Choke on lead.”: “eat a bullet/shut up”  
> Colors: jacket/logo/crest

“Seems kinda anticlimactic to be discussing the downfall of our leader over root beer floats and french fries,” Billie J observed, turning a potato stick over in his fingers, like he was studying something particularly interesting. “The end of what I thought would be my cult for at least another three years— gone.”

“Good riddance,” Davey said. “Following a madman isn’t much better than being one yourself. If we were to just follow him blindly, we’d be just as evil. We’d be just as guilty for the murders he’s committed.”

“I can’t believe he fucking killed people,” Travis murmured, stirring his float with a fry. “Just…” He trailed off, shaking his head with an air of helplessness.   
“When I met Bert, I’d known he was kinda weird, but never like this,” Zacky sighed. “I mean, he was always crazy, you know? He talked about crushing frogs under his shoes and hitting cats with his car. He had some weird skin mags that had people who, w-who _looked_ fucking eviscerated, but I thought that was all fake and effects and stuff, you know? Now that I’m looking back at it, though…”

“Don’t dwell on it,” Ryan advised with a sigh. “We all fucked up. It’s no one’s real fault. We weren’t even looking for the wolf in sheep’s clothing. We were looking for a way out of high school that didn’t involve too much effort.”

“He never liked you, Ryan.” Davey was smirking as he said this. “He never fucking did, but he only let you have a jacket because he thought Frank wouldn’t agree to this shit without you. He thought you were less than a cube with a classy chassis. He didn’t think you would be worth much in leather, didn’t really want you around and shit, but man, did Ray fucking fight to have you in this shindig.”

Ryan didn’t look very surprised by any of this. “I always kinda knew he hated me.”

“Everyone knew he hated you,” Frank said, eating his fries. “Cept me. The idea of someone hating Ryan Ross is fucking insane to me. A reality I do not believe in, and therefore, am unable to accept.”

“You’re on the hook with Ross, Frank,” Davey chuckled. “We all get it.”

Frank scoffed and kicked Davey from under the booth. “Say that again, and I’ll sick Ryan on you. He wouldn’t appreciate such rash accusations.”

“Brendon’s gonna be home tomorrow,” Ryan interrupted in a whisper.

Frank turned to Ryan and just nodded. It had been a week since the night of Frank’s mother’s death. His father was gone, legitimately gone. He’d been staying between Gerard’s and Ryan’s, sleeping on Ryan’s floor and in Gerard’s bed, trying to cope with the fact that he was now, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. He didn’t have a legitimate home, or parents. He was homeless, only having a roof over his head because his friends loved him. Frank had never felt this lost and this cared for in a long time. He couldn’t sleep most nights; woken up by the sound of his mother dying over and over again. It was harrowing, bone deep and traumatic. He couldn’t breathe whenever he woke up like that, wasn’t sure he wanted to. Gerard was the best at soothing him after those memories, would wrap Frank up in his arms and kiss him till the breathing was taken care of. Ryan did his best, but he couldn’t kiss Frank, and the kissing was what helped. Ryan mostly just curled Frank up in his blankets and read Frank poetry that Frank was ninety-nine percent sure Ryan wrote under an alias. Sometimes, Frank could swear that Ryan was destined for the radio and video, transcending time and space through airwaves. Frank liked to think about the people beside of him more than he liked to think about the dying woman in his head.

But now Brendon was coming home, and Frank wouldn’t have that safe haven anymore. Gerard couldn’t house Frank every night— Frank wouldn’t fucking let him. Frank was already so ashamed of being a charity case, he couldn’t stand the thought of inconveniencing Gerard and his wonderful family every single night. Frank was sure that Ryan would want Frank gone some nights, for when Ryan wanted more intimate moments with Brendon, and it wasn’t like Frank wanted to get in the way of their relationship and happiness, so he would gladly leave. But go where? The beach? A park? Wander around the city for hours and hope he didn’t get mugged? Frank didn’t have a lot of options and—

“He can just stay with me some nights,” Ray volunteered like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I know he goes between you and Gee. I don’t mind him crashing with me.”

“Why can’t Frank crash with Ryan just because the choir boy is back?” Billie J asked with an arched brow, looking a little less frazzled now that they were off the topic of danger. “Does that paper shaker need babysitting too? How pale.”

“D-D-T,” Ryan snapped.

“What, and look like you?” Billie J snickered. “I’m just saying— he’s just some choir boy. Frankie’s your best friend. Shouldn’t he take priority?”

“Drop it, J,” Davey huffed. “We need to fucking focus. What’re we gonna do about this shit? Who can we go to? Oh wait, that’s right— no one. This is just us. Just the Bloodsuckers against their lead vamp. The lead vamp that happens to be a legitimate murderous psychopath who, apparently, has no issue killing a fucking mother! A woman! This is as crazy as crazy gets, guys, and we can’t keep getting distracted by who’s with who and why.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes and Billie J ducked his head. “What do you suggest, then?” Ryan demanded. “I haven’t heard much from you, apart from lamenting your own ignorance to what Bert was capable of.”

“I actually have an idea.” Frank waited till all eyes were on him before braving the introduction of his plan. He’d thought about this all week, had hopefully perfected it. He knew Bert wouldn’t want to only come after Frank, so Gerard would— horribly and unfortunately— have to be involved. Frank didn’t want to put Gerard’s life on the line. He was much happier with letting himself go over the ledge than Gee. At least Frank knew he would try to fly before hitting the ground. 

“We’re listening,” Ray sighed, looking like he really didn’t like the idea of anyone having any sort of plan. Plans were awesome, though. Frank fucking loved plans when it came to his own plans. He had good fucking plans.

“We get me and Gee together,” Frank began, hands on the table, pointing at one corner like there was a map on atop the plastic. “I take Gee, we let Bert see us together— that’s why he killed my mom, you know? Why he tried to kill me. Because I’m f-friends with Gee. Bert’s a jealous asshole and wants Gee all to himself and—”

“That is so fucking gay,” Travis sighed.

“Shut up, no it isn’t,” Frank huffed. “So, we gotta make sure Bert sees me and Gee together, and we have to be doing something that’ll piss him off. Say, we hug and stuff. Or laugh at a joke.”

“Or make out,” Billie J chimed in, smirking like a fucking dick. 

“Or make out,” Ryan agreed.” Travis scrunched his nose, but refrained from commenting.

“I’ll castrate all of you,” Frank deadpanned. “ _Fucking anyways,_ as I was saying, we get me and Gee doing something he doesn’t like. We bait him and fuck with him and make him hate us and want to hurt us. We get him fucking spitting mad so he can’t see the trap we’re gonna lead him into.”

“He’s gonna have a knife. You know that, right?” Davey actually looked pretty concerned. “He could fucking gut you and Gerard, whoever the… Isn’t that the painter? Jesus, what are you doing with his painter? I know one of us warned you about that.” Davey shook his head. “I swear, you’re the type of kid to run headfirst into the jaws of a shark.”

“A shark named Bert,” Billie J added.

“You better be careful,” Zacky advised. “He’s not gonna hesitate to hurt you both. Maybe not that Gerard kid, not so much as he wants to hurt you, but he’s still gonna.”

“Don’t you wanna keep Gerard safe?” Ryan asked, more curious than accusatory. “Why does he have to be part of this?”

“Bert’s not gonna come after me unless I provoke him. He likes my face too much,” Frank explained. “He’s not gonna do anything to me, not when I’m alone. He’d just go to someone else, to fucking you. I’m not gonna risk him going after you.” He hadn’t meant to address Ryan directly, but it felt more natural to be talking to Ryan, regardless of who was present. “He’s already done that once. Had his hands around your neck.”

“And I fought back,” Ryan reminded him defensively. “He won’t fucking mess with me again. I proved to him that I wasn’t going to take any of his shit, and now he won’t mess with me. I know he won’t because he didn’t after you pissed him off again. I mean, I kinda fucking wish he had, because what he did was so fucked up that I can’t…” Ryan trailed off, looking away. “He won’t come after me again, Frankie. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”

“He totally doesn’t know what’s good for him,” Davey snorted.

“Crazy people never know what’s good for them,” Billie J agreed. “Otherwise, they’d all be in hospitals, getting medicated.”

Ryan looked kinda annoyed with this statement, but then again, Ryan always looked fucking annoyed. Frank was pretty sure his plan was golden, though no one had even let him finish. He was really fucking proud of this plan!

“We’re gonna get in some wheels and hope that Bert follows, and then we get him somewhere that the police are, have him come at us with, with, w-with that fucking knife, in front of the police, and bam! He’s fucking in jail! We’ve fucking got it done, all done, he’s in jail, because, like, he comes at us with a knife, then the cops see it, and then they see he’s a psycho, and all our problems are solved.”

“Wow,” Travis chuckled. “That’s dumb. Why don’t you just call the police to where you are?”

Frank blinked slowly at him. That was a much better idea. “That’s a stupid idea.”

“Frankie, come on,” Ryan sighed. “I mean, do we even have to do this?”  “The only way to get rid of Bert is to have him in jail.” Frank knew he was right about this. “We can’t get him for what he’s already done, because if there were any sort of evidence that would damn him, the police would have flown with it already.” Everyone looked hesitant, though they arguably knew Frank was right. Bert had gotten away with murder three times already. There was little they could do, aside from outright manipulating him into confessing. And maybe—if they were lucky during Frank’s plan— Bert would go and shout bloody murder about murder and the police would hear him and everything would be okay again. Frank just wanted all this shit to be okay, and then he and Gerard could explore this weird thing called love, and they’d all go to California and be fucking badasses.

“I say we go with what Frank’s suggesting,” Davey said with a heavy expression. “None of us have anything better. None of us have any better ideas, have no idea how to take this fucking asshole on. We can’t think of anything better. So we’ve got to do what we can.”

“Fuck yes,” Frank said, shoving his fist into the air.

“You’ll talk to Gerard?” Ryan asked with a grimace.

Frank nodded. “After my float.”

. . .

“I-I don’t like this,” Gerard actually whimpered, arms wrapped around his body. “You don’t know what he’s capable of, okay? And trying to play him like he’s some sort of game…” When Gerard shuddered, Frank wanted to wrap him up in blankets and warmth and affection, but resisted the urge. This was a serious conversation with serious consequences. Comfort could come afterwards.

“Gee, we can’t be complacent,” Frank told him gently. “We need to take the fight to him before he breaks our legs and makes it so we can’t fight at all.”

“That’s fucking dumb,” Gerard choked out. “Frank, Frankie, please— you don’t fucking know what he’s capable of. He’s a monster and a horrible type of person and he’ll kill you, Frank. He will kill you without a second thought, and then I’d lose you. I don’t want to lose you. You. y-you’re the best thing to happen to me in a long time, Frankie. I miss you when you leave my house even though I know you’ll be with me again in less than a few hours. I think about you all the time, I think about your stupid face and the way you laugh. Your giggles sound like the devil, Frankie, a-and it’s my favorite sound in the world.”

Frank was a little surprised to hear such loaded confession from Gerard. He hadn’t expected Gerard to be familiar with what Frank was feeling, let alone verbalizing it to Frank. Frank had always seen Gerard as really good with abstract words, but not something this spot on. He was kinda impressed.

“I just wish you knew what he was capable of,” Gerard choked out, hands starting to shake.

“Then tell me,” Frank prodded, memories as fresh as the bruises Gerard had worn the day they met. “I first saw you in the fucking hospital, Gee. The hospital. You asked for a smoke and that was it. That told me you were so fucking used to ending up in the hospital that you could have enough complacency and routine in it that you forget things as mundane as cigarettes. Do you not see how messed up that is? You can tell me, Gee. You can tell me what he’s done.”

Gerard shook his head, shoulders hunching up to his ears, like he was trying to hide in his shirt or something. Frank pictured Gerard pulled up the neck hole of his shirt and then sucking his arms and knees inside, imagining Gerard curled up into his t-shirt like a cocoon. Then he imagined the shirt Gerard was hiding in was Frank’s and a smile came to his face, something bit more predatory than affectionate, which was fine. Frank then imagined getting inside that shirt with Gerard and things went from family-friendly to overtly adult. That was inappropriate when Frank was waiting for Gerard to admit to being horribly abused. 

“C’mere,” Frank murmured, dropping onto the bed and gently pulling Gerard down with him. He grabbed one of the ratty blankets that could sometimes be found when the clothes were misplaced enough to reveal the bedsheets beneath. He was happy to say that he was used to the smell. Frank wrapped the blanket around Gerard’s body, being sure to tuck it into Gerard’s arms so he was really cocooned in the soft comfort. Frank was proud of how comfortable this looked. He was sure Gerard felt pretty damn comforted in there. 

“I want you to know,” Frank told him softly after lying Gerard and himself on their sides, facing each other. “That I am probably gay.”

Gerard choked on a laugh and instantly looked like he regretted it. He hid his lower face in the blank, appearing ashamed for having laughed. Frank thought that was a bit dumb because Frank had been so fucking adamant about not being gay, and here he was, admitting it to the boy he’d tried to fuck the other day like it should be some big surprise. Frank had said it with the intention of making Gerard laugh. It was silly for Gerard to try and stifle the laughter that Frank had sought to insight.

“I’m pretty sure I’m gay,” Frank repeated with a soft grin to show Gerard he didn’t mind it if Gerard giggled a little. “It’s dumb, isn’t it? That I just now figure this out. But it’s what happened, and I’m cool with it, and I think I will be for a while. I mean, I don’t particularly care. I didn’t care when Ryan came out, didn’t care when…” He couldn’t think of any other example. Ryan was really the best example he could have used anyways, because Ryan was his best friend. “Gee, just, I’m pretty gay for you now. And I don't particularly care if someone finds out, because I’ll just gut them with my bare hands if they try to give us shit. I’m not afraid of anything as long as you’re around.” That was a lie. He was terrified of Bert.

“I’m gonna go to hell and back to keep you at my side,” Frank swore. “I say that in a definite sense, because I have a feeling the devil’s gonna want an angel like you all to himself.”

“Jesus christ,” Gerard choked out with a strained chuckle, like he was trying to keep the laughter inside. Frank didn’t like that at all, but he wasn’t going to press. He had a purpose for this conversation, and he wasn’t going to let himself be distracted.

“Gee, you gotta know that I’m gonna be here,” Frank murmured, reaching out to brush some of that greasy hair from Gerard’s face. “I’m here. I will always be here. So you’ve gotta get used to me, and you’ve gotta get used to the idea of telling me things that make you feel so anxious you could vibrate through your clothes with how bad you shake.” Gerard looked more freaked out over having to tell Frank his secrets than confused by Frank’s really nonsensical analogy. “I need you to trust me,” he implored. “I need you to believe that I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. And I’d never use anything you ever tell me against you. I would never betray your trust in me like that. I would never betray you.”

Gerard smiled wetly, something that could possibly be tears resting in his eyelashes. “A-and to think, this all started over an art project y-y-you were too lazy to do yourself.”

It was Frank’s turn to laugh, and he leaned in to kiss Gerard sweetly as he did so. Gerard practically melted into the touch of their lips, wiggling closer to Frank and letting out a soft, content little sigh that made Frank’s heart flutter in a way that made breathing a little more difficult. He wondered if this was the moment to tell Gerard he loved him, but again, he couldn’t get distracted.

“Gee,” he almost begged, reaching out to hold the other boy’s face in his hand. Gerard’s skin was warm and live beneath Frank’s palm, and he couldn’t think of anywhere that he’d rather be. “Please. Trust me.”

He felt Gerard shudder, the shake of his body making the whole bed tremble, so Frank reached out and pulled the blanket open just enough to slip inside. It was horribly intimate. Meaningful enough to make Frank think twice about anything he said from this point on. The moment was fragile like a blood vein out of the body— one wrong move and he’d bleed out, staining Gerard’s sheets forever. He stared up at the boy with the hazel eyes that shuttered open and closed, like Gerard was trying to understand the weight of the moment like Frank was. Frank felt naked in a way he’d never been before, his own fucking soul bared open like a skinned animal. Gerard could very easy tear something deep inside Frank that would never heal again.

“I trust you,” Gerard whispered. 

“Then show me,” Frank prodded gently, still holding Gerard’s face in his hand. He felt another shudder go through the boy and wished he could end his fear and anxiety, but this pivotal moment would decide the fabric of whatever relationship they were going to have. Frank couldn’t let someone who didn’t trust him live in his heart.

“B-Bert was… never anything to me but a friend,” Gerard began after a long period of silence. “He, he was a weird kid, Frankie, always had been. He’d kill ants with a magnifying glass, which was normal, but then he’d run over frogs on his bike and would throw rocks at cats and dogs. He tore baby birds out of a nest one time and stomped on their bodies till their bones were crushed. He was an evil kid, Frankie, b-but we all just went along with it. We treated it like normality. Ray, Mikey, and I did, that is. Bert’s mom and dad were never home, so they never knew, and Bert would always tell us to never tell my parents anything.

“When we started growing up, he’d really tear into Mikey. I’ve told you this, told you why Mikey had to leave, but Mikey was also…” A third full body shake interrupted Gerard momentarily. “Bert was obsessed with Mikey. He’d climb the neighbor’s tree to watch him undress. He’d beat Mikey up just to feel Mikey beneath him. He took Mikey’s first kiss when he forced my brother into an alleyway between the soda shoppe and the church and punch Mikey in the stomach until he agreed to do it. Ray found out and told my parents, and that’s when they sent Mikey away.

“When Mikey moved, it, i-it was like Bert didn’t have a purpose for a little while. He was aimless and almost stupid. He would get into one thing for a little while, like sports or wrestling, but then would get bored of it in mere weeks. But then, all of a sudden, he was into comics. And drawing. And art and shit, a-and I thought that it was a good thing. I thought he was improving or adjusting, that maybe having Mikey around was a poison, and he just needed to be cut off from it. And, and it was kinda cool. I didn’t make lot of friends, the only people I really was ever close to was Mikey and Ray, because I was this nerd, and…” Gerard shrugged. 

“And suddenly, here’s Bert, making this effort and liking the same things I liked, so I kinda stuck to his side. He would stick up for me at the end of middle school, helped me keep my head high. Then, the summer before our first year of high school, he tells me he wants to start a gang. Wants me to help him make jackets and stuff for it because he thinks I’m really creative and smart and good at this stuff, and it was so flattering that I didn’t even think twice. I helped him come up with the Bloodsuckers, and you know Bert— he’s so charismatic on the outside that he just brought in these people with a few sly glances and promises that I-I’m pretty sure were lies. He even gets you in a jacket the next year, and Frank, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get wrapped into his hell. I didn’t mean for any of you to know him.”

“It’s okay, Gee,” Frank soothed softly. He leaned in further and brushed their noses because Gerard’s nose was so fucking cute, and he could tell the other boy needed some affectionate reassurance. “What happened to you, though? Why the bruises?”

“It, it started last year,” Gerard told him shakily. “The beginning of senior year. I’d seen signs all up through high school. Neighborhood pets going missing and being found dead in horrible ways that were all excused as animal attacks. He beat the shit out of the one boy who lived a few houses down from his place, but no one thought much of it because that same kid said he had started the fight with Bert, even though I knew he hadn’t. Bert is always the person to start the fight. He just threatens people into believing otherwise. I saw the signs and just ignored them because I-I liked having a friend who was into the same things as me. Ray was into comics and stuff, but not like Bert was acting he did. I liked having a friend.

“And he’d come over to my house after he was done waking up, he’d sit on my floor and show me the new comic books he’d picked up at the store, a-and we’d read them together, and he’d be so nice to me, Frankie. He may have been brutal to everyone else, but he was nice to me, and that really meant a lot to me. To be accepted meant a lot to me.”

“But what happened?” Frank pressed, realizing that Gerard was talking in circles. He knew Gerard didn’t want to talk about this, but he knew it needed to be said. It needed to be out in the open. And he needed Gerard to know it would never be used against him, so what better way to prove that than to show him? Maybe Frank was a dick for digging like this, maybe he was doing what Gee needed him to do; Frank wasn’t sure. But he knew that neither of them were going to sit well with each other without having this in the open. What Bert did to Gerard was important to Frank. He needed to know.

Gerard sniffled, and the tears were back. Frank reached forward to kiss the tip of Gerard’s nose, not wanting to preoccupy his lips in case he started talking. Gerard squirmed closer, till their chests were pressed together, and knotted his fingers in the gather denim material at Frank’s thighs, holding on tight.

“He came over,” Gerard mumbled. “He was staring at me the whole time. Like, like he knew something I wanted to know, but didn’t. He talked about weird things, about finalities and adrenaline and impulsivity. He seemed almost crazy, Frankie. The way he moved his hands when he was talking and the way his voice sounded. Like he was about to do something stupid. Dangerous.”

Gerard paused, clearing his throat and wetting his lips. “… He pinned me to the bed. And took my clothes off. Said I would like it, a-and at first, I did. He said I made a good girl for him. And he was nice, in the beginning. he took care of me. W-was gentle, but then… He, he changed. He started to bite and scratch and he held on to my arms too tight, to my legs and hips. It hurt a lot, a-and when I asked him to stop, he said that this was gonna happen to me or someone else, so… I let him keep going…”

Frank was tense with absolute fury. He had half a mind to ask Gerard to stop, but Gerard kept going. 

“I kept letting him come back,” Gerard continued with a look in his eyes that said he wanted nothing more than to be as far from the memories as possible. But detachment was impossible when the events were so fresh. “I didn’t want anyone else getting hurt because I was too much of a coward. And I started to like it, kinda. I liked all of it. The bruises and cuts felt good, even if it was only a little bit. I didn’t mind it when it wasn’t too much. If I could hide the marks, I’d let him do anything. It was just his way of keeping his aggression away from the open world, his way of venting and funneling every evil thought and urge into one person.”

Gerard blushed faintly, which was odd for this conversation topic. “I, I like rougher sex. Okay? I know I do. Now I do. Not, not some sort of weird thing where Bert made me like it. I actually really enjoy it. So, while being with Bert wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t so bad that I felt like I needed to get someone to help me. I felt out of control, but in a way that I kinda liked. He was violent enough to satisfy these urges in himself, and that was what mattered.”

“Then what went wrong?” Frank asked. He had been thinking while listening to Gerard, and realized that Bert’s startling aggressive behavior had started really showing itself recently. The crazy look in Bert’s eyes didn’t count. But Bert’s need to hurt people— that had been extremely sudden. What had triggered this?

“You went wrong,” Gerard told him, not meeting Frank’s eyes. “You met me at the hospital. I told Bert about it later— said I saw one of his jackets in the emergency room. He didn’t seem to care, really, but he started to care when I told him that I knew you were named Frank, a-and that I was helping you with an art project. He started caring then. He got upset. He became rougher. He left more marks, making sure they were in visible places. Like he was trying to own me. And he got scarier.” Gerard grimaced, playing with the denim between his fingertips. “I know that sounds juvenile, but I was truly scared of him sometimes. He didn’t treat me like he used to. He wasn’t as… not. Not gentle. As he had been.” Gerard sighed. “Then, the more I was with you, the worse he got. The night he killed those two poor boys? That was the night following that I first has the courage to deny him what he wanted. He didn’t like that.”

“What did he do to you?” Frank prodded, wrapping his arms around Gerard’s torso, something that he wished he’d done a while ago. He needed Gerard to know he was there for him. 

“He just didn’t stop,” Gerard choked out, close to tears again. “He didn’t stop. It wasn’t even sex, he just k-kept hitting and kicking and h-hurting me. He didn’t stop, and I tried to fight back, I did, but he’s a lot stronger than me. I’m just some weak art kid that likes dumb things. He has fists. And evil in his heart.”

“You were brave enough to try,” Frank murmured, knowing that this was as far as he wanted to know. He pulled Gerard in for a decent kiss, running his fingers through Gee’s hair. “You were brave enough to try and stand up to him. That’s a lot more than any of us could ever do. Took me a week to finally get everyone to man up and face Bert. You did it, all on your own, and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Ice it,” Gerard whispered. “It, it doesn’t matter. I tried to fight back, but I failed, and it just made him more upset. He got worse and worse, but he stopped coming to me after he killed those boys. I-I wasn’t his outlet anymore. And since he couldn’t use me, he killed your mother, too.”

Frank frowned at the self deprecating tone in Gerard’s voice. “Wait… don’t tell me you actually fucking blame yourself for that.”

Gerard ducked his head. “I-if I had just let him do what he wanted… if I hadn’t been with you, hadn’t insisted that you stay in my life, your mother would be—”

“Wow, okay, I’m gonna have to ask you to shut the fuck up,” Frank interrupted stiffly. “Because there is no fucking way, in any sort of, of bullshit reality or whatever, that her death was your fault. You were fucking protecting yourself. You were trying to stay healthy and alive and in no way does that make my mother’s death your fault. I loved her, yes, I loved her so fucking much, but my family is broken, and we haven’t truly known each other for years. My father’s gone too, so you and Ryan and Ray— you guys are all I have left in terms of a family. And I can’t stand my family feeling like something as tragic as my mother dying was his fault. Gee? That wasn’t your fault.” He’d said that phrase at least ten times already, he was sure, but he couldn’t say it enough for Gerard to understand. He’d learned from Ryan that self deprecating and guilt-ridden people took a lot of work when it came to changing their mindset. He was still working on making Ryan let go of the time that Ryan had accidentally broken Frank’s toe after stealing his shoe. Dumb little things like that. Frank was sure it was going to take him years to help Gerard move past blaming himself for Frank’s mother dying.

“I’m gonna make you fucking believe it isn’t your fault one day,” Frank huffed. He could tell Gerard didn’t believe him yet.

“I just wish I could have stopped him,” Gerard confessed brokenly. “You didn’t deserve that kind of loss.”

“Gee, baby,” Frank cooed, reaching up to gently brush his fingertips over Gerard’s cheekbones and jawline and cute hooked nose. “I have you, okay? I have you. You make everything feel a hell of a lot better.”

“When’s the funeral?” Gerard pressed.

Frank shook his head. “We’re not having a ceremony. We’re just quietly lowering what’s left in a grave. I’m not sure about the details, my dad isn’t ever around. For all I know, it could’ve already happened, and he didn’t feel the need to invite me. We weren’t a close family. We barely spoke in the course of a month. They haven’t said a direct sentence to me since my birthday in October. I miss her, yeah, but not much more than I did when she was alive.”

“That’s sad,” Gerard mumbled. “Your life makes me sad. I wish you felt loved.”

“I never felt unloved,” Frank clarified. “Just… We didn’t need each other like that. I got fed. I had a roof over my head. They paid for the things that I needed, and that was all they really had to do. That was all I wanted them to do. I’m not a true family person. The only relation by blood I count is blood spilled for others. Not blood passed through genes.”

Gerard smiled sadly, though it was also kinda sweet. “Am I your family? I haven’t seen much of your blood spilt for me…”

“Maybe spilling other fluids counts,” Frank teased with a wink. He totally had masturbated to the thought of Gerard. What healthy boy with a hot boyfriend wouldn’t? Frank thought it was kinda weird to see Gerard as his boyfriend, but really, Frank didn’t give a shit. It was also weird to be in love with said boyfriend. Frank cared about that a little.

Gerard looked down at Frank’s lips, then back up at Frank’s eyes. “… You’re really going to take him on?”

Frank nodded. “For you,” he said firmly. “For Ryan. For us.”

“For everyone,” Gerard breathed.

Frank just leaned in to kiss Gerard so they wouldn’t dwell on this any longer. He’d rather be with Gerard and make out anyways.

. . .

“This is gonna get us killed,” Ryan swore, sitting in the back passenger of Davey’s kustom 1957 Cadillac with sombreros and white wall tires. The top was down and Ryan was leaning over the front console to watch as Frank drove, knowing where they were going and looking like he wished he could grab the wheel and turn them around. They were going to old frontage river that was always dried out, where Bert thought he was going to be witnessing the brutal takedown of Williamstown’s toughest jocks; a street race for pinks, represented by Billie J in all his revving glory. 

“Frankie, we can still rethink this,” Ryan insisted. “We can find something, maybe record a conversation with Bert, get him to confess and send it to the police. Anything’s better than staring down the jaws of the wolf and betting on him snapping his teeth. We are literally asking for him to come after you with the intent to hurt you, Frankie! This is fucking insane!”

“This is what we have to do,” Frank replied steadily. “Meet insanity with insanity. When in Rome, fight like a Roman or be slaughtered in the coliseum, Ry.”

“I didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Brendon,” Ryan lamented. It was Frank’s fault, too. It was the day after Gerard had confessed to what had happened between him and Bert through the years. He’d gone to Ray’s place once he and Gerard had steadily placated one another with soft kisses and exploratory touches to no true end. Frank had detailed everyone on his plan, had even gotten Billie J to initiate a fake and impromptu race with the assholes at Williamstown, while Ray would convince the cops to come. Ryan hadn’t had the time to see Brendon before Frank had shown up and insisted it was time to leave. Frank really did feel bad. He knew that it would’ve helped Ryan feel a lot more comfortable with this whole ordeal if Ryan had just had the time to say goodbye to Brendon. It wasn’t like an actual goodbye, of course— the were gonna come back. Frank was sure it. He just knew Ryan would’ve been a lot less strung out. Although Frank knew he should probably be more strung out. Just for safety’s sake.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Frank said with more confidence than he felt. He pulled up along the riverbed, driving carefully into the concrete ditch that sometimes actually had water in it, being very cautious since this wasn’t his car. Davey had put a lot into trusting him.

“This isn’t gonna go wrong,” Frank swore. “We can do this.”

Frank looked out at the cars lined up, saw Bert’s wheels and Billie J’s and Zacky’s and Travis’s. Bert was standing tall on the hood of his Firebird, looking like the Bloodsuckers had already won. Frank felt his stomach churn at the sight of the murderer, but didn’t let it show. He pulled the car up alongside Zacky’s and killed the engine. Davey nodded his head, a silent testament to his dedication to the plan. No one from Williamstown was going to show up, and Frank hoped that Bert wouldn’t get suspicion long enough for Gerard to arrive. A lot of little pieces had to come together to make this work. But he was sure they could pull it off.

“Frankie! Ry, baby!” Bert jumped down from the hood, arms spread wide as if he wanted to greet them with a hug. Ryan flinched, actually and bodily flinched, eyes narrowed at the other man. But Frank grinned and waved. 

“What’s shakin’, buttercup?” Bert asked. He looked to Ryan and laughed at the way that Ryan’s entire posture said “get away from me.” “C’mon, snake, let’s rattle! You and me, baby. We can have some fun.”

“Choke on lead,” Ryan choked out. Frank could hear the residual fear in his voice, but he couldn’t let that get to him.

“Let’s be civil,” Frank interrupted before anything could happen.

“I’m glad you’ve seen the light, Frankie,” Bert hummed. “Excited for the speed? The gasoline? I know I am. I’m overjoyed by the prospect of seeing Billie J claiming yet another slip for my colors. Don’t you think a new car will look good in the garage?”

“It’ll look like the sun,” Frank said, and he knew it didn’t make sense, but he was sure Bert liked it.

“I’m sure Billie J will make me…”

Bert trailed off, looking behind Frank, and Frank knew, he fucking knew what Bert was seeing. He wondered if Bert had set up some sick rule— _don’t go outside, Gerard, or I’ll cut you apart. I’ll tear out your eyeballs. I’ll kill anyone and everyone you love._ He wondered if Gerard was as afraid of what was going to happen as Ryan was. He hoped Gerard wasn’t too anxious or upset. Frank couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t call this whole thing off in the face of Gerard’s fear.

“What in the fucking jackalope,” Bert muttered, complete gibberish as usual. He was scowling, appearing ready to kill again. Bert brushed past Frank with the gait of a executioner, so Frank turned around and fucking ran. He was simultaneously relieved and sickened when he saw that it was indeed Gerard. He bolted to Gerard’s side, reaching him long before Bert.

“Do you trust me?” he asked in a breathless whisper. When Gerard nodded, Frank leaned in and kissed his boyfriend. Gerard let out this choked out noise of something, and Frank was pulled away by a hand around the back of the neck of his jacket. 

“What the fuck is this noise, Gee-baby,” Bert asked in an alarmingly calm voice. Gerard’s eyes were wide and terrified and Frank grabbed Gerard’s hand and pulled up to his side. “What the fuck is this, Gerard?!” Bert demanded furiously, stalking after them. His eyes were alight and he looked exactly like what Frank thought the devil looked like.

And then there was a gun.

“Oh fuck,” Frank said before he could think to not show weakness. He was only supposed to face down a knife. Bert had pulled the colt from the back of his pants, looking like he knew how to use it. Frank had no fucking idea when that gun had come into play. He hadn’t had a fucking clue that Bert even had a gun. He heard Ryan let out a shout of something from behind him, and suddenly Travis was standing at Frank’s side, but that didn’t feel as comforting as the gesture was meant to be. Not with the gun being pointed directly at Frank’s head.

“Frankie, baby,” Bert cooed, sounding nine different types of crazy. “Frankie, Frankie, fucking Frankie, what the fuck have I been showing you?”

“You’ve been showing me death,” Frank replied, staring down the barrel and wondering if it would be too quick for him to feel the pain. He wondered if Gerard would cry over his body, or if Bert would kill Gerard next. God, what if he tried to kill everyone here? “Bert, you gotta put the gun away…”

“Put that fucking thing down!” Travis shouted. Frank saw that Travis had a fucking crowbar in his hand. That wasn’t going to do much good against bullets. The gun was closer to Frank’s face now, shoved against his nose, and that kinda fucking hurt, but his heart was beating too quickly from the ugly terror at this point. And Bert was fucking ignoring Travis, moving closer and closer, backing Frank up with his gun pressing into Frank’s cheek now. Frank was way too fucking scared to fight back, that much was fucking obvious, and Gerard was tugging on Bert’s shirt, begging him to put the gun down, and Bert was smiling like the god damn devil looking down on hell.

“I’m gonna fucking tear your pretty face off your fucking bones!” Bert screamed, shoving Frank onto the concrete. Frank dropped like a stone, head hitting the ground with a sickening crack that brought spots to his vision. Bert was on top of him in a split second, screaming and shoving the gun down Frank’s mouth.

“I’m gonna fucking tear you apart!” Bert cackled, eyes wide and fucking crazy. “I’m gonna tear out your throat and watch you choke on your own fucking tongue! I’m gonna make Gerard hold you as you die, then fuck him on top of your fucking corpse! And then I’m gonna kill Ryan by drowning him in your fucking blood!”

Bert was knocked to the side abruptly by the crowbar connecting with his shoulder, Travis standing above Frank with a harrowed expression. Frank locked eyes with him for a split second before Travis’s head snapped back and he fell to the ground. Frank didn’t hear the gunshot until Gerard started screaming and Ryan tried to help Frank sit up while Billie J and Zacky and Davey tried to wrestle Bert away from the gun without stepping into the path. He looked to Travis.

Travis was lying on his back, staring up at the sky with nothing in his eyes, bleeding from the forehead. Bits of gray matter was cushioning his skull, and Frank had always thought brains were more pink.

“Oh god, no!” Gerard shouted, tears streaming down his cheek. Bert was shouting something, and the gun was still being waved around, and everything was fucking falling apart because Travis was dead, _Travis was dead._ Frank had gotten Travis killed. He’d gotten his friend killed.

The world lit up red and blue, and Ray was here, finally here, They wouldn’t need much evidence to prove Bert was a psycho, because Bert was waving his gun in the air next to a dead body, it would take an idiot not to believe this, but…

Frank shuddered and slumped into Ryan. He knew Travis’s hollow gaze would follow him for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this is the second to last chapter_
> 
>  
> 
> the last chapter will be up in **two weeks** because it'll take longer for me to wrap everything up nice and shiny
> 
> thanks :)


	9. Take Drugs and Sleep Forever (The Pericardium)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (to) the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> betaed by the lovely [cemeterydrivethru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cemeterydrivethru)
> 
> [my tumblr](http://wellthisisprettyrisque.tumblr.com)
> 
>  **The Final Daily Dose of Dialogue Definitions** Stacking up: to wreck (a) car(s)  
> Sounds: music  
> Wave surfing: flipping the radio channels

“Baby?” 

Frank looked up from the dirt mound that was hiding Travis for the rest of forever from the world of the living. Gerard was beside him and reached out for Frank’s hand, tangling their fingers together gently. Gerard looked a lot better in his suit than Frank did. So did Ryan. And basically everyone else at this funeral. Especially Ray, though, Ray looked really good in his suit. It was fit to his body and tailored and Frank was doing his best to think about anything but the corpse beneath his feet. It was harrowing to know that a life that he once saw every day no longer existed. Like stacking up a car or burning a candle into nonexistence. Frank wasn’t sure how he’d seen so much death in the course of the last three weeks, but he was tired of it. He was tired of everything.

Gerard inched closer to him, shuffling his feet in the grass to keep the noise down. The ceremony was over; Frank had lied his lily down on the grave. But they were lingering with a small crowd to pay their own private respects.

Billie J had prodded everyone to burn their jackets soon after Bert had been arrested. Every Bloodsucker and then Gerard had found a ditch and burnt every single jacket, tossing them into the flames and trying to ignore the smell of the burning leather. Honestly, the jackets didn’t burn well at all, but it was the idea behind it that mattered. Frank was sure Ray dumped them into the ocean afterwards. Or maybe tossed them into a dump. Ryan was pretty conscious about the environment and would’ve probably dogged Ray into doing something sensible. It was sweet.

Ryan wasn’t even at the funeral anymore. He’d left pretty quickly, mumbling something about his father and making preparations. Frank knew that Ryan wanted to get out of Jersey as soon as possible, but he couldn’t bring himself to pack. Not when Travis was so newly dead.

“Baby,” Gerard repeated in a whisper. “We have to leave. The cemetery is gonna close soon.”

“Just a little longer,” Frank nearly pleaded. He wasn’t done apologizing. Wasn’t done begging for forgiveness, begging for Travis to forgive him for causing the end of his life. After all, it was Frank that had caused this. If Frank had just kept his head down and done something not as stupid as purposefully provoke a psychopath with a gun, Travis would still be alive. He’d still have a fucking heartbeat and he’d be doing stupid things, like losing fingers with Zacky, and souping up engines with Billie J.

“Don’t you think you’ve seen enough of this?” Gerard asked gently, trying to pull Frank back.

“Travis deserves for me to stay,” Frank replied stiffly.

“But you don’t deserve to feel like you do…”

Frank scowled, staying stubbornly in place. “I’m not going fucking anywhere, Gerard, so just leave me be. This is what I need to do, okay? This is what I have to do. So just go somewhere else if you don’t want to be here any longer.”

Gerard flinched and ducked his head.

Frank sighed.

“… I’m sorry, Gee,” he said, needing to alleviate the tense air around them that was starting to have nothing to do with the headstone in front of them. “I’m not… I see him. Every time I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, I see Travis. And it’s starting to wear me down. I don’t know what to do, other than swallow it down and do what I feel like I need to do. That gives me the punishment I deserve.”

“You don’t deserve a punishment,” Gerard tried to reason, but there was no hope.

Frank shook his head and sat down, showing he was there to stay.

. . .

Gerard had his arms around Frank, playing the role of the comforter once more. Frank was now a permanent residence of the Way home, at least until they were off for California, which was happening tomorrow morning. Ryan had been the one to finalize the plan with Gerard, talking about needing to be somewhere else that didn’t have so many shadows and graves and memories with missing faces. Gerard had agreed wholly, saying that he’d meant to go down to California anyway for his brother, because Mikey was going to stay in the golden state. Brendon was coming with Ryan because that was love, Ray was coming along for an unknown reason that made his eyes light up, and Frank was following everyone like a lost puppy that didn’t know if he had a home or not. Ryan had explicitly stated, more than once, that Frank was basically required to come with them, but Frank still was unsure. A side effect of his symptoms of the sleepless nights.

“What’s it called?” Frank asked in a low mumble. “Survivor’s guilt?”

He felt Gerard nod and occupied himself with staring at the skin covering Gerard’s skinny frame, how fragile it was, how easily a bullet could tear through him, like a pencil stabbing through paper. If Bert had just been a little more unhinged, it could’ve been Gerard with the bullet in his head. Frank shuddered and leaned in to mouth gently at the pulse in Gerard’s neck, wishing he could crawl inside Gerard’s chest cavity and wrap his entire being around Gerard’s heart, just so he could know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Gerard was alive. He felt a little insane with how he needed to be closer. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Gerard said for what had to be the millionth time. Empty words for an empty promise at this point. Frank just went along with it and pretended he believed just to ride on the chance that Gerard wouldn’t say it again. He kept kissing the pulse point, letting his lips linger so he could feel the gentle, steady thrum. It was the only comfort he’d had in a long time. 

There was something about Gerard that made him feel okay, made him feel decently at ease or whatever. Gerard was the safe zone, the shock blanket, that numbed Frank’s senses and let him zone out, replacing the waking screams with a warm buzz of affection. He wished he could sleep. He wanted to talk, wanted to tell Gerard that he saw not only Travis behind his eyelids, but his mother, and William, and Gabriel. He saw the people Bert killed because, if he thought hard enough, he could have saved all of them somehow. He wanted to tell Gerard all about the ghosts that were screaming for him to wake up and escape the flames, the ghosts that kept him awake, so he could finally fall asleep.

“Got any sleeping pills?” Frank asked instead.

“… I have alcohol,” Gerard replied. 

“Good enough.”

. . .

Ryan was watching Brendon try to shove his backpack into the back of the Cadillac with something of an exhausted smile, like he wanted to fall asleep forever. He looked up and saw Frank, their eyes connecting as Frank approached Ray’s house with his single bag and Gerard at his side. Ryan nodded his head , arms crossed over his chest, wearing a vest and one of those bandanas around his neck, another wrapped around his head, curls falling everywhere. It was a good look. 

Frank felt weird without a jacket, and he knew he would for a long time. While Ryan was obviously embracing his true self outside of the leather, Frank didn’t really know who he was going to be. He hadn’t loved being a Bloodsucker, but it was all he’d known. Violent tendencies and rash decisions was who he was, but that was the Bloodsucker side of him, too. What if he wasn’t anything other than someone created by a murderer? His original jacket had been burned in the apartment, and he’d never received another– would never receive another. There was something a lot more jarring now that he knew he’d never get a replacement.

Ryan read right through Frank’s face and opened an arm, a welcoming gesture that encouraged Frank to go and talk to Ryan, which Frank was eagerly going to accept. He strode to Ryan’s side while Gerard went to Ray’s front door, probably to talk to Ray’s parents. 

“You okay?” Ryan asked him softly.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” Frank sighed. 

“Wow,” Ryan snorted. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think? Jesus, Frankie, you’re Frankie. That’s all you need to know about yourself. You’ve got me and Gerard and we both think you’re pretty swell, so just stick to that. It’ll make things a little bit easier.”

“You have a purpose for going,” Frank sighed. “I’ve graduated, so I have that, but so have you, and you actually know what job you want. So does Brendon and Gerard, and Ray’s gonna do construction because that’s apparently some weird ass dream of his? What have I got? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Brendon’s gonna be a hairdresser,” Ryan snorted. “That’s hardly big news. And I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.”

“Opening a bookstore is a legitimate thing,” Frank retorted. “And really, uh, cute? It’s cute, Ryan. You, with your bandana and colors and curly hair and stuff. Aren’t you just a little cute-y pa-tootie.”

“You keep saying that shit, and I’ll break your jaw,” Ryan deadpanned, though Frank could see the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “It’s probably not gonna work out, anyways. It’s hard to get a place to sell that shit in Los Angeles. I mean, rent isn’t too bad, but god, I’m probably not gonna make it. I’ll have to get some job in bureaucracy once I go under.”

“Don’t be such an ass to yourself,” Frank chided.

“Same to you, you little shit,” Ryan chucked. “Let’s be positive, for once. For our lovers.”

“Lover?” Frank grimaced. “I haven’t gotten around to telling Gerard that word, yet.”

“You should. It’ll really help with the relationship. Really break down that last wall so you two get start trusting each other. When I told Brendon I loved him, it was like this last chunk of fear was chipped from his mind, and everything was just heart from then on.” Ryan smiled softly over at Brendon, who was still struggling. “He really started to believe that I was as invested in the relationship as he was, which was kinda a monumental step towards the more permanent side of him and I.”

Frank smirked. “You’re so smitten.”

“Fuck off, Frankie,” Ryan giggled. “Being in love isn’t a bad thing. It isn’t weakness. It isn’t anything that’s negative or something to fear or avoid. Love is pretty fucking amazing and it makes you feel like your roller skating in the fucking sky, Frankie. I think you should tell Gerard. He probably feels the same.”

“That word ’probably’ in there is what makes me too nervous to confess.”

Ryan shrugged. “Life is made of risks in the form of cliff dives. Eventually, you’re gonna have to jump.”

“Frank’s in love with Gerard!” Brendon gasped, apparently having finished packing his stuff in the car. Frank narrowed his eyes at the little piece of crap that had been eavesdropping so blatantly. Frank was so close to throttling the little shit, but Ryan narrowed his eyes and stepped in for Frank.

“Listening in is kinda rude,” Ryan chided. At first, those words seemed half assed and weak, and Frank, was gonna step in on his own, but the way Brendon was looking at the ground let him know that these passive aggressive statements were the best way to make Brendon regret what he may have done. Frank smirked a bit and nudged Ryan.

“Nice to know you’re still on my side,” he said.

“I’m not on your side,” Ryan replied with a scoff. “I’m not on Brendon’s side. I’m on the side of not being an asshole.”

“Hey, guys!” Ray called out, walking out of the front door with Gerard at his side and a huge fucking grin. “Are we ready? My mom made us banana bread and muffins for the drive.”

“It’s four days to California,” Mrs. Ortiz said with a soft smile. “Five, if you take it easy. I figured you boys would need some food, on top of whatever junk you’re going to waste away on. Ray has been saving up for this trip for a very long time, and so has Gerard, I believe?”

Gerard nodded, smiling politely and looking down at the scuffed toes of his shoes.

“Mikey Way is going to be so happy to see you both,” Mrs. Ortiz almost sang. She looked almost dreamy in her happiness as she hugged her son that was going to leave her for an undeterminable amount of time. Frank had always thought normal parents would be saddened by their kids leaving, but Mrs. Ortiz was acting like all of Ray’s dreams were going to come true. Frank found himself oddly comforted by her apparent confidence in the prosperity in Ray’s future.

“We ready?” Ryan asked, climbing into the back of the car. Frank knew he would appreciate the convertible once they were in California, under the sun and in a place that didn’t smell like the sewage of New Jersey. Ray nodded and hugged his mother.

“Thanks again for the car, Ma,” Ray said with a wide smile. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“Take better care of yourself,” Mrs. Ortiz replied. “And your friends. They’re your family once you’re past the state line. Don’t forget that.”

Ray finished his goodbyes as Frank jumped into the front seat. Gerard and Brendon squished into the back with Ryan, and Gerard looked like he was settling down for a long nap, while Brendon looked like he wanted Ryan to give him a fucking handjob as surreptitiously as possible in the back seat. Frank watched them and wondered what it was like to have actual, successful sex with another boy. He glanced back further and saw Gerard and realized that even if he never got around to getting to know that angelic body, he’d still be able to live off of kisses from those divine lips. 

“Have you ever driven across the country Ray?” Gerard asked, looking pretty nervous. Frank wondered if he feared long car trips or just cars. 

“Never with friends,” Ray chuckled. “And never in the driver’s seat. My father loves a good road trip. He would take me and my mother up to Washington to visit family. We’d take our time, visit all of the weird tourist spots that he would see signs for along the road. It was always a lot of fun for us. A good escape from the confinements of the city.” Ray turned back and smiled toothily at Gerard. “So don’t worry, Gee— I know what I’m doing.”

Gerard didn’t look very comforted by that, but Frank thought it was awesome, and Ray was going to be good at this shit, because none of the rest of them were. Frank had never even left the suburbia surrounding New York city before, and he knew Ryan had only ever gone as far as Frank.

“I went to Boston, once,” Brendon supplied helpfully. Ryan smiled softly at that and reached to Brendon to hold his hand, tangling their fingers together in a sweet gesture. “It was pretty nice. It was for a choir competition, we got second place out of all the East Coast.”

“And you came back, and we celebrated over pop and cupcakes,” Ryan hummed, obviously remembering this event. Frank wondered how long Ryan and Brendon had actually been dancing around each other before finally taking the final step into gay love. “You sang really well, baby. I’m still proud of you for that solo.”

“I’m the only student to have a solo all four years of being in the choir,” Brendon stated with enough pride to fill a hot air balloon. “My teacher still thinks I should go to New York and be on Broadway, but Ryan’s always wanted the beach.”

“And you,” Ryan scoffed. “Don’t put all of this on me.”

Brendon giggled and sat up to kiss Ryan’s cheek. “As long as I’m with you, I’ll always be singing.”

“Oh god,” Frank gagged. “I’m getting cavities.”

“Fuck off, Frankie,” Ryan shot back, kicking the back of Frank’s seat as he grinned and squeezed Ryan’s hand.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” Ray announced as he started the car and pulled out of the drive through with a final wave goodbye to his parents. Frank was excited to watch the city disappear in the rearview mirror. He needed the catharsis of leaving the ghosts behind.

. . .

Somewhere in fucking Kansas or Missouri, Gerard was helping Ray set up the tent, Ryan and Brendon were checking out the creek that was a few yards from their campsite, and Frank was drowning in the anxiety of uncertainty. 

He’d never been an anxious prison because he’d never really challenged himself. Frank had never thought past his own future of tomorrow’s meal, he hadn’t planned past graduating. The jacket and Ryan had been his only constant, but now that he was in a new state, heading to a newer state with a newer life and no plan of going back, Frank didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He had no real skills, had no dreams for the future, had no aspirations or abilities or anything that could get him anywhere.

Gerard could draw. Ryan had realistic expectations and the mindset to achieve them. Brendon had actual fucking talent, and Ray just wanted to do construction work. All of those were reasonable things in Frank’s mind. But what did he have? The inability to define himself past leather and blood and a dismal absence of anything original about himself. He was nothing. He was literally nothing. He was a white wall that no one had bothered to decorate, so no one ever would. How was Frank supposed to survive with such mediocrity filling every vein in his body?

“Frankie?” 

Frank looked up from the fire he was trying to start and managed a tight smile to Gerard. “What’s up?” he asked with a sigh. He tossed the lighter and fire stick to the side, not bothering with watching where they landed. “Everything okay?” he added. “The tent looks great, as always. Night two is a good night to get a hang of putting that thing up. Hopefully it won’t blow over like it did in Indiana.”

“You look sad, Frankie.” Gerard sat down beside him and leaned his hand down on Frank’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Really? I, I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am happy,” Frank lied. He wedged his hands between his thighs to hide the way they shook. “I’m pretty fucking happy, Gee. I’ve got you at my side, and I’ve got Ryan on the road with me, Ray and Brendon coming along— this is pretty fucking awesome for me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Even though he hadn’t ever really wanted a damn thing in his life.

Gerard bit his lip, then stuck his nose in Frank’s neck. It was cold as ice, and Frank jumped with a little shriek, whipping his head to look down at Gerard with a very wounded expression. “How could you betray me?” he asked, though he was starting to grin. It was hard to stay upset when Gerard was looking up at him with those wide, hazel eyes and that fucking adorable nose that just so happened to be pink from the cold. Frank leaned in to quickly peck that cold nose with his warm lips, just because he wanted Gerard to see how cute he thought he was being.

Gerard giggled a bit and leaned against Frank again. “You’re sitting down,” he stated like it was an exemplary observation. “We’ve been sitting all day. You should go on a walk with me. Something short, you know, just enough to help our legs get the exercise they need.”

“I’ve got to light the fire first,” Frank reminded him. “This is my one and only job. The job that Ray entrusted me with. I gotta live up to the standards that I set last night— that boisterous fire or however you use that word.”

“I don’t think you used it right,” Gerard said with a grin. “And your fire making skills are unchallenged. You can finish it once we’re back. The sun is gonna go down no matter what we do. I’d rather make a fire in the dark than hike in the dark.”

“We’ve got flashlights,” Frank reasoned.

“You’ve got a lot of excuses,” Gerard pointed out.

Frank sighed. “… What am I gonna do once we’re there, Gee? With your brother? Ryan’s gonna have a bookstore, you’re gonna have the comics, Ray’s gonna have construction, a-and Brendon’s just so fucking talented that he’ll be able to find work anywhere. But what do I do? What am I supposed to do? What sort of job can I have out there? I only barely passed high school, and only because I turned in your half finished art project. But I don’t think I’m capable of anything, Gee. I’ll just be dead weight to you guys.”

“You’re anything but that,” Gerard said sincerely. “You’re important to me, baby. I want you by my side, whether you earn money or not. You will find a job. You’ll find something that makes you happy and feel fulfilled. You’ll find something you enjoy and we’ll all be fine. We’re gonna be staying with Mikey. He has an apartment leased to him by the school for his GPA achievements while he transfers to the aeronautics university. He’s gonna let us stay with him, so we won’t need to worry about rent money for a while.”

“Have you talked to him?” Frank asked curiously.

Gerard nodded. “I called him before we left. He seemed pretty okay. He’s usually way too busy for me or anything, really, but when I told him I was coming out to California with my friends, he offered us his place. He seemed very excited. Said he had some amazing news to share with me.”

Frank smiled a bit. “That’s sweet. I can’t wait to meet the guy.”

Gerard bit his lip. “… I-I don't know if I want him to know I'm gay or not.”

Frank’s heart sunk.

“I just, I haven’t seen him in years, and I don’t want to alienate myself from him,” Gerard explained, looking like he was struggling to sound reasonable. Frank totally understood, except he really didn’t. He didn’t get why Gerard was suddenly shy about this sort of thing, why he wanted to hide who he was from his own brother. Frank had always assumed, from Ray and Gee’s descriptions, that Mikey was a really cool guy who wouldn’t care about his brother being into other guys. “I’m scared that he won’t like me if I tell him the truth,” Gerard continued. “And since we’re gonna be living with him for a bit, I feel like I have to be very careful about this. He won’t be upset about Bert ending up in jail, but he might get upset over me being gay. So, I-I’m not gonna tell him at first. Maybe not for a while. It just depends on how he seems on the matter.”

Frank nodded, staring at the lighter. “You go on a walk, Gee,” he said. “I’m gonna start this fire.”

Gerard’s face fell. “Frankie… I’m sorry. I’m just—“

“It’s fine, Gee,” Frank lied. “Have a good walk.” He grabbed the lighter and went back to the kindling, not looking at Gerard to signify that he was done with talking. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone. He was done with the conversation. He just wanted to sit in silence and soak in the added level of uncertainty that had been introduced to his life. He’d assumed Gerard would be a reliable constant, but of course, that wasn’t the case. 

Frank was really in the fuck dark now, and it had nothing do with the setting sun.

 

. . .

Utah was their last night out of LA, and Frank had been silent the whole day. He’d stared out the window in the backseat next to Ryan (because it was Brendon’s turn to be in the front), and had watched the flat plains and towering plateaus roll by. They’d stopped for gas twice already. Frank was surprised with how much money Ray’s parents had given him and even more impressed by how much Ray had saved up on his own.

“Mikey was the best friend I’d ever had,” Ray told Frank later than night. “I’ve been waiting for the day where I can see him again. Every penny I’ve ever earned has gone to this fund since for the past few years. I’ve been working for this trip for as long as he’s been gone. I just— this is my life. Seeing him again is my life.”

Frank frowned. “You and Mikey were just friends, right?”

Ray shrugged and didn’t respond to that. “Get some sleep, Frankie. We’re getting to LA tomorrow. It’s gonna be busy.”

. . .

Ryan and Ray convinced everyone to let them stop in the Zion National park. They were only about six hours from LA at that point, and it was ten in the morning when they got to the park, so they had a good two to three hours to just walk around see what there was to see. Frank had seen stereo pictures of this place in history books and library posters, but the real thing was a little bit better than he’d expected. The red rocks and open space was still something Frank wasn’t used to. He was much more accustomed to buildings blocking his view of the sky. Frank wasn’t used to an natural scenery, splayed out before him, like everything he’d seen on this trip. He’d forgotten that the world was so… _big._

Frank hiked a plateau and stared out at everything and tried not to feel even more insignificant. Not only did he have no purpose, but he was a tiny speck on the earth with no purpose. He looked up at the sky and saw the moon hanging low in the midday, and wondered if he would be better off up there.

“Frankie!”

Frank jolted and stumbled a bit, kicking rocks that fell down the cliff and met their new ground. He whirled around and saw Brendon, then felt a little confused. Ryan wasn’t nearby, and Ryan had never, ever been alone with Brendon before. He had no idea what to do, what to say, what to even try in approach to this.

“Hi, Frankie,” Brendon greeted jovially, bouncing to Frank’s side and looking out at the same view that Frank had seen, but Brendon was looking with much less trepidation. In fact, he seemed content, and was smiling softly with his eyes fluttering shut as he took a long breath in. It was the weirdest thing Frank had ever seen because he had never, ever seen Brendon stand so still and so silently for more than a split second, let alone this lingering minute. Frank wondered if he wanted privacy, and glanced to the view one last time, before turning on his heel, intending to leave.

“Ryan says you’re nervous about not having a purpose,” Brendon interrupted before Frank could finish his turnaround. “And I figured, you know— hey. I haven’t ever really talked to Frank before. He’s Ryan’s best friend, best friend of the love of my life. I should probably get to know him.” Brendon turned his head to smile crookedly at Frank. It was oddly attractive, compared to the usual exaggerated facial expressions that Frank was used to from him. “But I figured people have already beaten talking about this to death for you. Plus, talking about things that make me anxious make me even more anxious, so I don’t want to do that to you.” Brendon kicked another rock down the cliff to join its friends. “What’s your favorite part of moving?”

Frank was thrown for a loop and shrugged. He hadn’t expected to answer a question this random. He’d been gearing up to talk, yet again, about his crippling sense of self worth and lack of aspirations for fucking anything. “Uh… I like being around my friends. And seeing the world. I don’t know, just seeing something aside from the fucking city skyline. And I’m excited to have more sunshine than rain for most of the year.” Frank shrugged again, then sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Look, Brendon, I appreciate this, but—”

“Ryan’s worried about you and I’m tired of him getting so stressed out when you’re just moping,” Brendon interrupted. Frank narrowed his eyes shrewdly at Brendon. Brendon shrugged this time. “What? I’m gonna tell you the truth because bullshit is… That sentence got away from me really quickly.” Frank wasn’t surprised. “Look. I’m not gonna lie to you. It’s stupid to lie to anyone, especially when they’re upset over something. Lying’s just going to make it worse. So I want you to know that I’m gonna tell you like it is. Which is awesome.”

Frank arched a brow. “There a point to this, kid?”

Brendon shook his head. “Just wanted you to know that I’m on your side.”

“I don’t see how what you’ve said is telling me that you’re on my side.” Frank was extremely confused, but Brendon usually did that to him.

“How’re you?” Brendon asked with a soft smile. 

“Could be better,” Frank said.

Brendon looked to him with a frown. “Are we talking about the previously discussed insecurities? Or something else?”

“Gerard doesn’t want to come out to his brother because he thinks Mikey won’t like that he’s gay, so I’m gonna have to hide what I feel for Gerard the entire fucking time we live with that kid. Which is just _so fucking great_.” Frank kicked at the ground, growing angry at the world because he couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Gerard. “I never thought that I’d have to hide who I was and who he is to me. Not after leaving Jersey behind.”

“Ryan and I had to hide for so long,” Brendon said sadly. “We still do, kinda. I can’t even tell you how relieved and happy Ryan was once you knew. He actually cried a little. He wouldn’t admit it, would never admit it, but he loved that you didn’t care and it brought tears to his eyes.”

Frank scrunched his nose and looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t realize he wanted to be out that much.”

“He didn’t want to be out,” Brendon explained. “He wanted to be able to be himself around you. He hated hiding this huge part of himself from you. He felt like he was lying to you, and it made him feel sick, some nights. Like, he’d be so anxious and scared and freaking out over if he would ever be able to tell you that he’d throw up.”

“He’d throw up?” Frank frowned. He didn’t like that. He fucking hated it. Seeing Ryan in pain or sickness was just fucking wrong, and he didn’t like to think about it at all. Ryan was a good fucking kid, and he didn’t deserve to have a paper cut, let alone anxiety that made him retch. And fuck, it was Frank’s fault. 

“I never meant for Ryan to think that I wouldn’t accept every part of him,” Frank grumbled, angry with himself. “I mean, I’ve tried to be nothing but good to him, right? I defend him and stuff. Tell him when he’s wrong, _if_ he’s wrong. I’m a good friend. Or I thought I was a good friend. Turns out I’m not.”

“No, that wasn’t it,” Brendon told him. “I kinda encouraged him to tell you. He was just too scared himself. It wasn’t that you discouraged him— it was that he didn’t have the courage to do it in the first place.”

Frank groaned and pressed the blunt of his palms into his eye sockets. “Fuck— if I’d known being gay was so complicated, I never would’ve done it.”

Brendon laughed and shook his head. “Let’s get back to the car. Gerard and Ryan definitely miss us.”

. . .

The palm trees overhead made Frank want to do drugs and pretend that the world was flat and he could walk across it to disappear off the edge. The sun was just starting to set, and the sky was a mix of pastels and golden colors, a painting created by a god that Frank didn’t believe in. He had his head resting on the back end of the car, the metal hot against his skull from soaking in the sun, and the radio was playing “Tequila” by Go Champs Go. Gerard did his best to direct Ray to the address Mikey had given him over the phone, pouring over the map that had bloodstains in the corner from where Gerard had reopened the cut he’d given himself while prying open a can of soup. Frank watched the pinks and purples change, distantly confused by the lack of clouds overhead, and smell of salt permeating everything, piercing his clothes and hair. After long, he knew he would never be able to wash out the smell of the ocean.

“God, look at that,” Ryan breathed, nudging Frank to look out to the coast. “I mean, I’ve seen the ocean— the other ocean. We’ve seen the ocean on the other end of the country, and yeah, it, it’s pretty, it’s something, but it’s not… this.”

Frank looked out to where Ryan was gesturing and nodded slowly. He thought this ocean was a lot more blue. The pacific versus the atlantic really was a legitimate thought, and Frank honestly was going to admit that he preferred the pacific. “It’s so fucking beautiful,” Ryan murmured, leaning to the left, into Brendon, and resting his nose in Brendon’s neck, arms wrapped around Brendon’s waist. Frank stared at the way they were touching and knew that he’d had his last chance at intimacy with Gerard back at Zion. Gerard was in the front, and once they were at Mikey’s, Frank was going to be alone, regardless of the words Gerard tried to feed him.

Frank was fucking heartbroken and it sucked.

. . .

Mikey’s place was a really, really, _really_ nice little house that was on a steep slope that lead right to the ocean. Gerard told him it was just a mile or so from the aeronautics university that Mikey was going to be studying at in the coming year. The house itself was a dull blue with white accents, and the driveway was only a yard long, but Ray parked on the side of the road like everyone else. The windows were clean and there was bicycle propped up against the door, along with a weird plank of wood that had wheels on the bottom. There was no grass in the tiny, concrete yard, but there was a swinging bench on the porch and mazda electric christmas lights hanging around the door. 

Gerard’s expression was soft and almost affectionate when he first saw the house, while Ray looked hesitantly excited, like he was hoping for something really good to happen, but wasn’t about to expect nothing to go wrong. 

“Are you gonna knock?” Ray asked, thrumming with nervous energy. “I don’t know if we should knock…”

Gerard climbed out of the car and ran to the door, slamming his fist into it and calling out his brother’s name. There was a pregnant pause, where Frank wondered if Mikey was even home, but suddenly the front door and screen door were torn open and there was a pair of the skinniest legs Frank had ever seen wrapped around Gerard’s waist, and skinnier arms around Gerard’s neck, a mop of blond hair next to Gerard’s black hair, and sharp peels of laughter from both boys.

“You fuckin’ made it, you psychos!” the brother exclaimed, unwrapping himself from around Gerard to smack a huge, wet kiss to Gerard’s cheek. Then he looked over Gee’s shoulder and saw Ray and let out an exclamation of happiness, running down the concrete to bend over the car door and latch onto Ray similarly to how he’d wrapped himself around Gerard. “You fucking loonies, I love you guys so much! Come inside, come inside, fuck, we gotta get you guys out of the sun, Gee’s gonna turn into a tomato!”

The brother pulled away and finally noticed the other three people in the car. His eyes narrowed in an assessing manner. “Okay, I’m gonna guess who’s who once we’re inside,” he said. “Grab your bags, let’s go!”

“This is such a cute place!” Gerard told his brother joyfully.

“Ain’t it?” the brother replied. “The school’s paying for it. And my groceries. I’m seen as too gifted to have to spend my time worrying about food and stuff, so they got me this place to help me not get worried about anything.”

Ray looked like his heart was melting as he stared at the boy, and that was the moment that it clicked in Frank’s head that everyone on this road trip was so fucking gay and Ray had been harboring a crush on Gerard’s brother for literally years. Frank thought his life was a tragedy, but Ray’s life and hopeless pining was a close second.

Fuck.

Life could fucking suck.

Frank wondered if Gerard knew about Ray’s crush. He kinda hoped Gerard didn’t, because he could see Gerard being overprotective and attempting to sabotage any chance Ray could have. Frank would be kinda pissed with Gerard if he did something like that to poor Ray. Brendon climbed out of the car first and went to the back, grabbing his bags and lugging them out, Ryan following close behind, and then Ray and Frank. Gerard was already inside the house, walking around and exclaiming loud enough about random things to be heard from outside. Frank began to smile fondly, but quickly killed the gesture. He wouldn’t want to incriminate Gerard of being something he didn’t want to admit to.

“It’ll be okay,” Brendon told Frank like he’d known what Frank was thinking, which was fucking creepy. “His brother loves Gerard. Gerard loves you. It’ll work out.”

Frank just brought the bags in without comment.

. . .

“There are three bedrooms,” Mikey told them after going through introductions. “I was thinking Gee and I could share one room, then you guys divvy it out on your own time. There’s one shower, which is upstairs, and the upstairs bathroom is only a sink and a toilet, but this place is free, so it’s pretty fucking worth it. They pay for utilities and everything, but still, be smart about it, we are in California, which is slowly losing it’s regular rate of rainfall every year. We’re probably due for a drought in the next fifty to sixty years. But yeah, figure out the rooms however you’d like, Gee, move your bags upstairs?”

Frank waited for Gerard to interrupt and correct him about who would share rooms with who, but Gerard never did. Frank watched him, waiting, and the conversation ended with Frank wearing an expression of betrayal. Even Brendon looked like a little offended, like he thought Gerard should have corrected Mikey too. But what could Frank do? It wasn’t his house, and it wasn’t his choice. 

Frank sighed and chanced a glance to Ryan and saw that Ryan was fucking pissed.

God, this wasn’t going to go well.

“We should check out the ocean,” Ray said with a wide grin, directing his suggestion mostly to Mikey. “The one in Jersey can be cold and there’s a lot of homeless people around. I’m excited to see what it’s like on this side of the country.”

“Pretty much the same, I’m afraid,” Mikey replied, grinning like he was as familiar with Ray as he was with Gee. “Can be cold and a lot of homeless people. But we’ve got a lot of sunlight and the girls look pretty sweet.”

“I don’t think any of us care about the aspect,” Ryan snorted.

Mikey looked to Ryan with the interest of a scientist. “Why not?”

Ryan arched a challenging brow, and Frank was really kinda proud of how badass and aloof his best friend was. He almost wanted to brag to the world that Ryan was his best friend, and not the world’s, but that was just so irrational, and Frank’s heart still hurt.

“Let’s go to the beach,” Gerard cut in, smiling nervously and obviously trying to get Mikey away from this topic of conversation. “I, I have my swim trucks! I think everyone does. We’ve just got to unpack a few things to find them, and then we can go!”

Mikey nodded. “The beach is just down the road. I’ll get some pops packed, and maybe a few sandwiches. I can give you guys the bona fide LA experience, complete with homeless people and sweaty drinks.” Frank was a little confused by what that meant, but obediently followed when Ryan went upstairs with Brendon just behind him, leaving Gerard and Ray and Mikey to catch up like they had to so desperately wanted to, even if they weren’t saying anything about it explicitly. 

“Are you okay?” Ryan demanded once they were out of earshot. “You know what— scratch that. You’re staying with me tonight.”

“Aren’t _we_ rooming together?” Brendon asked Ryan with upturned brows.

“Of course,” Ryan said, looking like he never even considered not rooming with Brendon. “But Frank’s gonna be with us. Three’s company, but who fucking cares. Gerard can’t throw you aside like this because he’s afraid. It’s one thing to not tell Mikey, but it’s another thing to act like you’re not even an option.”

“You’re not making a lot of sense,” Frank sighed, because he didn’t know how to defend Gerard while he was so hurt by him.

“He can’t throw you aside and expect me to let that happen,” Ryan snapped, baring his teeth like a dog who was being threatened. Or like a dog that was trying to be threatening. “Fuck, Frank, the second I get him alone, I am tearing him a new fucking asshole for you to fuck, and there isn’t shit you can do about it.”

“Ryan, please,” Frank groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some princess that needs to be protected. I can stick up for myself, especially when it comes to my boyfriend. It’s not like I’m scared of him or anything. I’m just… choosing my battles.”

“Fuck you, you’re not an adult yet,” Ryan deadpanned. “Don’t fucking act like one.”

“You’re right, I’m fucking angry. In fact, I’m feeling kinda fucking betrayed.” Frank shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, cheeks pink with exasperation. “I can’t believe that after everything he’s preached, he’s going back on his own sermon and fucking me over. I fucking love this asshole, and then he does this? What the fuck, Ryan? What the fuck did I do to deserve this?!” Frank almost kicked the small chester drawers that were in front of him. Brendon was going through his bag to find his swim trunks, looking like he was willing to leave this whole conversation to Ryan. Frank was okay with that. Ryan was a lot easier for him to listen to. 

“You should punch him,” Ryan suggested with a firm nod. “Fight him. Start a fight. Fucking show him how upset you are and prove you’re not gonna take this lying down.”

“God, Ryan, is this even gonna work?” Frank asked with a broken expression. “Should I give up on this relationship already?”

“Oh my god, no!” Brendon gasped, butting in to give his apparently necessary two cents. “Don’t do that! What you and Gerard have is new and exciting, and no one has set up any sort of ground rules according to what’s what and what to do! Gerard may not even realize that you’re so against this! He seems pretty, uhh, obtuse. He might not even know something’s happening. You, you gotta talk to him first. You gotta talk to him and let him know there’s a problem and see what he wants to do to fix it.”

“Is that really what he’s supposed to do?” Ryan asked, frowning. He looked genuinely confused, and Frank thought that was very endearing. Brendon must have agreed, because he pecked Ryan’s cheek and smiled.

“Neither of you have had really good parents,” Brendon explained, which was the understatement of the fucking millennium. “Ryan’s were abusive, and Frank’s were just neglectful, so I know you guys don’t really understand how healthy relationships work. The main idea is that you should always communicate and verbally express your problems and insecurities with your partner. If you feel neglected, tell them. If you’re upset by something they did, tell them. It’s unfair to expect them to know exactly what you want from them. No one can read minds, we’re not some sort of super human species that know these things instinctively or magically. You have to tell people these things or they’ll never know, and then you’ll be miserable, which will make them miserable, and then you’ll both be miserable, always, and there will be no way for you two to get past it without actually just talking about your problems, like you should have done in the first place.”

Frank looked down at his feet. “… I should talk to Gerard.”

“It’s weird to think that people don’t talk to each other,” Ryan said.

“What?” Brendon giggled. “You were advising Frank not to talk to Gerard, and just fight him! You were doing the very thing you’re mocking?”

Ryan frowned, and Brendon just looked liked he thought he was in love with the biggest, most amazing idiot in the world. Frank watched with more than a little jealous, wishing he could be like this with Gerard. At least now Frank knew to just talk to Gerard.

“When do I broach the subject?” Frank asked. “I have a feeling that he’s not gonna be without Mikey for a long while. Could, could be days. What do I do? What if I have to wait days for the chance just to kiss him again, let alone talk to him?”

“Then you shove him against the wall and kiss the daylight out of him,” Ryan huffed. “I’m not gonna let you stand around and be miserable. Like Brendon said— do something about it.”

“Guys!” Ray shouted from downstairs. “Are we going?”

Frank sent Brendon and Ryan and weather expression, before going to search through his clothes while Brendon shouted down a vague promise of being “only a few moments longer.”

. . .

The ocean was warmer than the one in Jersey, and Frank spent the whole time watching Gerard splash around and try to dunk his brother under the waves. 

He felt wrong.

Out of place.

Even more so than before.

Without a purpose, without a sense of self or identity— Frank was a brown paper bag in the wind, trash to anyone who bothered to pick him up, stained and crumpled and fucking useless. Frank wondered if he even had a chance of reclaiming who he was, or if he should just give up.

“Frankie,” Ray called out softly from beside him. “It’s going to be okay.”

Frank knew that Ray was shooting the wind. It wasn’t going to be okay. Ray would see that soon.

. . .

It was at dinner, late in the evening, around seven o’clock when a boy showed up at the door. He looked like he was wearing stage makeup, and had black hair and chiseled features and a toned body that was easily visible because the boy was shamelessly shirtless.

“Gee, Ray, guys— this is Pete,” Mikey said, putting an arm around Pete’s waist. “My boyfriend.”

Frank saw the moment Ray’s heart broke.

. . .

It was hard to really look past what was happening to Ray and see the situation as his own benefit from Mikey having this asshole as his boyfriend. And Pete Wentz was totally an asshole. He had the hair and the bright eyes and the body and the confidence of someone who was a complete and utter asshole. No one with teeth as white as Pete’s wasn’t an asshole.

“It’ll be okay,” Ryan was saying gently in the dark of the ending day, the ocean waves crashing as Gerard got to know Pete and Brendon got to know Pete and Mikey. Brendon was actually doing a really good job of distracting Mikey and Gee and Pete while Ryan and Frank handled the mess that was Ray Toro, even if Ray didn’t look like a mess at all.

“He’s happy, though,” Ray said, smiling through tears that fell silently down his cheeks. “See him? He’s happy.” Mikey was pressed shoulder to shoulder with Pete, but Frank didn’t see it. Neither Mikey nor Pete were looking at each other with any sort of affection. Not like Brendon and Ryan would, or Frank and Gee. It looked more like Pete was conveniently there for Mikey to lean on because the sand was making it hard for him to keep his balance. Pete and Mikey were together but Frank didn’t think they looked like they wanted to be.

“It’ll be okay,” Ryan repeated uselessly, expression more downcast than Ray was letting his own be. “Just… Fuck, Ray, I-I had no idea. I had no fucking idea. I’m so sorry about Mikey, Ray, I wish I had known sooner. Then I could have found some way to protect you from this.”

“You couldn’t have. And that’s okay.” Ray assured him gently. “This is the way life works. I wasn’t there, so someone else was, and that… that’s just how it works.” Ray looked down at his hands that were wrung together. “I should’ve just followed him out here and stuck by his side. I should’ve been the one to be the shoulder for him to cry on. I should’ve been his, b-but I was too much of a coward to leave Jersey.” Ray sighed. “This is my fault. Only my fault.”

“God, fuck, don’t blame yourself,” Frank huffed in exasperation. “Look, what’s happening here is a little messed up, yes, but it is, in no fucking way on fucking earth, your fault. Mikey’s with some other asshole dick named Pete, but that doesn’t mean that…” Frank sighed. “Jesus, okay, this sucks, and there’s no way around it. I’m so sorry, Ray. Out of all the people on this shitty planet, I never fucking thought that you would be the person to be hurt by it. You’re the most genuine and good person I’ve ever met. You’re the last person to deserve something like this.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen,” Ray replied with a shrug. The tears had stopped, and Ray was busy wiping away the traces of salt water from his face that weren’t from the ocean. He seemed tired now; just very, very tired. He seemed like the weight of the world had been on his shoulders for far too long, and now he was just now collapsing under the weight of it all. Frank wanted to hold him up, give him some sort of help. He was Ray’s friend. Friends were supposed to help each other. Frank was just shit at doing anything other than hating on the world and blaming it for his problems.

“I’ll get over it,” Ray said, even though Frank knew that wasn’t the truth. Ray had spent years pining over this boy, only to follow him across the country and find out he was with someone else. You didn’t just “get over” something like that. No, Frank knew the trauma would linger with Ray for years.

. . .

Pete stayed over for the late dinner of soup that Mikey had left over. 

“God, man, I just, I fucking love the sounds on the radio right now!” Pete exclaimed while wave surfing, switching through the FMs and AMs that caught his ear. “It’s all so fucking silk, god, I love it all so much. Turns me on like nothing else.”

Gerard giggled and Mikey rolled his eyes, nursing the beer in his hand like he knew what he was doing. Frank narrowed his eyes at Pete, critical as he had been all night. Brendon really seemed to like Pete, though.

“I know that one!” Brendon exclaimed, stopping Pete’s hand and letting a song play its length. Brendon even started singing along, skilled and confident, and Pete’s jaw dropped open.

“Holy moses, B,” Pete gasped. “You sound like the angels shaped your throat on their own! Oh my god, baby, dazzling dancer, I need you to meet my soul star. Patrick, Patrick Stump— he’s got a voice like yours. He’s got the voice of a god and that god’s own desire for blessing humanity. I need you to be friends with him. I need you two to sing together. I need your two voices to mix together like the most intimate positions of sexual ecstasy.”

Brendon was grinning and blushing and Ryan looked jealous, but Mikey looked fucking tired. Like this was the usual. And again, Frank had the sense that Pete was just a convenience. He glanced to Ray, but saw Ray wasn’t looking at Mikey. Ray was looking at his soup. Ray was kinda silly in his echoing sadness. 

“You gonna sing for me, baby?” Pete asked Brendon in an almost sultry tone, in full flirtation mode that was obvious to fucking anyone. Even Gerard was started to look a little perturbed. “I know how to make voices reach their true potential.”

“Okay, hey,” Ryan interrupted, pulling Brendon back and into his lap, arms wrapping around Brendon’s waist protectively. “This boy? He’s mine. And the only one who’s gonna bring his voice to its true potential in whatever sexual ecstasy you’re talking about is me, okay? So fuck off.”

Pete’s brow shot sky high, but he was still grinning. “I always welcome a challenge.”

“Asshole,” Frank butt in. “Back off.”

“Don’t call him an asshole,” Mikey said with very little conviction. 

“He’s trying to flirt with Ryan’s boyfriend in front of Ryan,” Gerard reasoned with an uneasy smile. “That’s kinda an asshole thing to do.”

Mikey shrugged.

Pete stood and kissed Mikey’s cheek. “I’ve gotta swing it, Mikes— got a few jazz hands to make. I’ll catch you later.”

“Bye,” Mikey replied with no inflection as Pete left. When Pete was gone, Mikey sighed, then shook his head. “Don’t worry, Gee— we’re breaking up. It’s not officially ending, but it’s totally ending. We don’t connect like I thought we would. He’s too obsessed with that Patrick guy and these other boys. Pretty sure he’s cheating on me.” Mikey shrugged. “I’m done. I’m gonna end it. So he won’t be around for long, acting like this.”

“I’m sorry, Mikey,” Ray said with a regretful expression.

Mikey laughed and just shook his head. “Let’s get you guys to bed.”

Frank was still waiting for Gerard to come out to Mikey.

It didn’t happen.

. . .

The third night of sleeping with Ray, Frank had had enough. He hadn’t even been able to touch Gerard in days for fear of setting Gerard off, and Gerard hadn’t even protested it, hadn’t shown he wanted Frank to be affectionate with him like he used to. Frank was almost sure that they weren’t even a fucking thing anymore, so he was going to tell Gee that. Or ask. He was going to ask Gee if whatever was between them was over.

Frank went to Mikey and Gerard’s room and all but slammed on his fist on the door. He knew they were awake because he’d heard them talking about staying up and pouring over comics and Frank had been jealous for all of dinner, because yeah, Gerard was Mikey’s brother, but Gerard was supposed to be Frank’s boyfriend. That had to count for something in the pyramid of social and intimate importance. 

Frank wanted to count for something to Gerard.

“What the fuck?” Mikey asked as he opened the door. “What the fuck is it? Where’s the fire?”

Frank’s entire fucking body froze at that question, and he completely forgot why he was here. What did he even mean by that? Had Gerard told Mikey? Fuck, if Gerard had told Mikey about his mother, Frank would… feel even more betrayed. In all honestly, Frank couldn’t feel much lower.

“Frankie,” Gerard gasped. “Hey, you okay? Are you okay?” Gerard was standing in front of Frank out of nowhere, hands coming up to gently frame Frank’s face, though he wasn’t actually touching Frank, like he was scared to do so. Frank looked to him with a haze in his mind, like fog covering his eyes and his brain and his tongue. He stared into Gerard’s hazel eyes, wondering why Gerard still wouldn’t touch him, then had to ask.

“Did you tell Mikey about my mother?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice, because with the more the apathy lessened, the more the anger grew. How fucking dare Gerard do this to him. How dare Gerard betray him like this, make him feel these things, make him put his heart on his sleeve and then let everyone laugh at it. Frank didn’t like to be laughed at. Frank was a fucking devil when he was being hurt by people that he thought could be trusted. “Did you fucking tell him about the fire?” Frank continued to demand, voice biting and harsh. “You can’t just fucking tell people about the fire to random people, you can’t tell anyone about the fire, _it isn’t your fucking story to tell_ , you backstabbing piece of—”

“Don’t talk to my brother like that,” Mikey cut in.

“I didn’t tell him anything about the fire,” Gerard promised with sadness in his eyes. “Frankie… w-why are you mad at me?”

Knowing that Gerard hadn’t said anything about Frank’s mother did little to placate him. “Why am I mad at you?” Frank asked rhetorically. “Oh gee, Gee, I’m not sure why! Maybe it’s because of the way that I don’t even fucking exist to you anymore? Or the fact that you don’t even say good morning to me? You don’t talk to me. You don’t even fucking look at me most of the time! I’m mad at you because I’m stuck in this area of limbo where I’m wondering if you even love anymore or not!” 

Gerard was looking to Frank with wide eyes, like he had no idea where this was coming from. Mikey looked like he was about to start laughing, but not in a way that was funny. Mikey looked pretty fucking uncomfortable, but he also wasn’t trying to leave, so whatever he heard wasn’t Frank’s fault.

“You’ve turned your back on me and it hurts, Gee,” Frank choked out, barreling on because that was the only thing he could do right now. “It hurts like a knife in my back, hurts like being hit by a car or thrown off a fucking cliff onto jagged rocks. It hurts more than anything and I don’t know what to do anymore! I don’t know if you want me, I don’t know if I’m welcomed, I-I don’t even know who I am, and it’s not like I was ever even welcomed to tell you these things because the most I’ve seen of you is your back to my face!”

Gerard was pale and stricken and Frank, Frank knew he should feel bad. He’d always been against being the person to make Gerard look sick and scared, but Frank was hurting too, and Gee hadn’t cared. This wasn’t retaliation or petty revenge— this was Frank saying what he needed to say. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t. And this way, at the very least, Frank would be able to know if Gerard was truly Frank’s love, or if he was just another person to make Frank wish he’d built his walls a little higher.

“I had no idea you felt this way,” Gerard choked out, voice hedging on absolutely broken. “I just…”

Frank waited, and grew even more manic the longer he was waiting, because Gerard hadn’t even apologized. Looked like he hadn’t even thought to do so. Frank threw his hands into the air and was about to turn around when Mikey stopped him with a gentle hand on his upper arm.

“My brother hasn’t changed much from what I’ve seen,” Mikey told Frank softly. “And that means that he’s just really fucking bad at anything like this, okay? Whatever he’s done, it isn’t what he’s meant to do. It isn’t what he’s meant to convey. Has he done these things to make you feel this way? Undoubtedly, yes. Does this excuse blame from him for the pain you’re feeling? Fuck no. But should you give him a second chance? I… I really think you should. He’s an idiot and when he messes up like this, it really hurts, but it’s never on purpose and it’s never done with malicious intentions. He just does things without thinking.”

Frank scowled, shaking his head. “You don’t fucking know what you’re talking about. This isn’t some friendship being shunned, this is—”

“You’re in love, I get it,” Mikey sighed.

“ _What?_ ” Gerard interrupted shrilly. “F-Frank, Frankie doesn’t, he, he doesn’t love me. He doesn’t! That, that’s not how he feels about me, Mikey, don’t be silly!”

“What the fuck?” Mikey scrunched his nose. “Gee, Frank’s in love with you, and that’s what you’re gonna say?”

“He’s not in love with me!” Gerard almost shouted.

“He’s not denying it!” Mikey replied, gesturing to Frank almost wildly. “How much of a dick can you be?

Gerard looked to Frank with a drawn expression, but Frank wasn’t going to retract his statement. Mikey could know Frank was gay and leave it at that, right? Mikey didn’t have to know about Gee. Frank would take the fall. He would hit the ground running. He could handle this. He could take this.

“I, I don’t know what to say,” Gerard said, avoiding Frank’s eyes now.

“God, fuck, Gee,” Mikey groaned. “You fucking asshole!”

Gerard flinched and Frank narrowed his eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t be that harsh,” Frank mumbled, knowing it was hypocritical, because he’d just been a real asshole to Gerard too. God, fuck, Frank wished he could have taken the stuff back. He shouldn’t have started this fight in front of Mikey. He shouldn’t have started anything. Frank should’ve just taken it silently and left or something. He regretted this.

“This kid’s in love with you, Gee, and, look, I totally get it if you didn't know, but you know now, and you’re not gonna do anything about it?! He’s gotta be terrified right now! Or, like, anxious!” Mikey through his hands in the air in an abortive gesture, like he was trying to give Gerard visuals to help him understand. “Gee, you gotta fucking say something better than that. Please.”

“I don’t need your help,” Frank interrupted, scowling. He turned to leave again, but was stopped, again, and he sighed heavily, expecting to see Mikey, _again_. He paused, though, when he saw that it was Gerard holding his arm.

Gerard looked torn. Absolutely split in two and wrecked.He was gnawing on his lower lip harshly enough to make the soft skin crack and bleed, and Frank wished he could gently clean the blood from Gerard’s lips with his tongue, which was fucking creepy, but something Frank was totally into. Gerard’s eyes were searching Frank’s, like he was looking for something, some sort of support and courage for whatever he was about to do next.

“Mikey?”

Mikey looked to his brother expectantly, though Gerard was still looking at Frank.

“Mikey, this… This is my boyfriend. Frank. He, h-he helped me with Bert and protected me and he cares about me a lot. We met at the hospital and since that moment, I-I’ve never stopped thinking about him. Now I know he’s in love with me, and I… I’m in love with him too.”

Frank’s eyes slowly widened as he processed Gerard’s words, and he wondered if he was really awake. It wasn’t hard to believe Gerard could fall in love, of course, that wasn't why Frank was so shocked. Frank was shocked that Gerard was saying this to Frank in front of Mikey. Coming out to his brother in one fell swoop. Honestly, it was fucking dumb of Gerard to hide his sexuality from his _gay brother_ , it was fucking insane and backwards and dumb, but Frank wasn’t going to continue to criticize Gerard because Gerard had come out and Frank wasn’t alone in love.

God, he hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

“Jesus, Gee, you think I didn’t know?”

Frank and Gerard both finally turned to Mikey and Frank could tell Gerard was inwardly panicking with how Gee’s hand was starting to tremble on Frank’s arm. So Frank reached up and took Gerard’s hand in his own, seeing no harm in the gesture now that Mikey knew (even if he’d apparently known for longer than expected). 

“You’re my brother,” Mikey sighed. “I knew you were gay before I even left. You had dad’s old men’s jacket catalogue under your mattress. And I’m not fucking stupid, okay? Furthest thing from it. I see things and I know what they mean.”

“Most of the time,” Frank added thoughtlessly with Ray on his mind. Mikey frowned but didn’t comment, still focusing on Gerard. 

“Gee, I’ve known,” Mikey said. “So if you’ve been neglecting him and making him feel undesired because you’ve been so scared of me knowing, I’m gonna punch you in the fucking teeth.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard mumbled, looking very ashamed of himself, and rightly so. Frank was actually feeling better, finally, and knowing Gerard was, maybe, in love with him too was helping a lot. Fuck, Frank had to clarify.

“Gee?” he called out softly and carefully. “Do you… are you in love with me too? Because, b-being in love… it’s fucking scary. I, I don’t know what to do. Falling in love was never in the game plan, and I never really expected it to be, so I have no idea where to go from here. I don’t know who I am outside of you and Ryan, and if this is when you start second guessing me, then I need you to get it over with. Rip the bandaid off. Make it quick, so I can find out who I am and know if you’re gonna be with me or not..”

“I love you,” Gerard breathed. “I’m just bad at showing things. Like that. I’m sorry.” Gerard’s words were as stunted and faltering as Gerard’s ability to express his emotions, and Frank found it horribly endearing. God, his head was such a mess right now, a roller coaster with steep drops, and loops the whole ride. He wondered if he was taking this too quickly, or if he wasn’t going fast enough. He just knew that he wanted to kiss Gee. But that probably wasn’t appropriate for right now.

“God, Gee,” Mikey sighed. “Look, I’m gonna go raid Ray’s room and bunk with him for the night. I’m starting summer courses tomorrow, they last five weeks each, so I’ll be kinda busy, and that means that you’ll have plenty of time to fix—” He made wide circles with his hands between Frank and Gerard. “This. Fix this. This poor kid?” He pointed to Frank. “Near tears. And I have a feeling that Frank isn’t the type of person to cry easily. Gee, you gotta fix this. You just fucking gotta.”

Mikey left Frank and Gerard alone, and Gerard was blushing red as a tomato, like he knew what was expected of him. But Frank had no idea what was expected of either of them, so there was no reason for Gerard to be embarrassed.

“I’m a jerk,” Gerard said. 

“I know,” Frank replied with a sigh. “Trust me, Gee. I’ve been upset about this for the past couple days, so believe me when I say that I know you’ve been a jerk.”

Gerard winced and ducked his head, looking down at where their hands were joined, looking like he was at a bit of a loss. Frank was just as lost, so he couldn’t help Gee out. Frank just looked down at their hands with him and basked in the fact that this was the most contact he’d had with his boyfriend for fucking days. He’d never been a really clingy person, only because he’d only clung to one person in his life. But now he had Gerard, too, and it was making him rethink who he was. He’d been doing a lot of that, lately. And again, Frank was reminded that he had no idea who he was as a person. But at least he knew he had Gerard. For sure, this time.

“I love you,” Gerard mumbled, finally. “I do. I-I feel love for you that goes beyond the love I’ve felt for people in my life. I want to be around you all the time, I do, I just… Got distracted. By my brother. Having him at my side again.”

Frank nodded slowly. “… Is that the truth?”

Gerard went back to gnawing on his lower lip. “… Not entirely.”

Frank’s brow shot up in surprise. “Wait, really? That was me being some kind of jerk, Gee, I-I totally would’ve bought that as the truth. You seem like the type who’d get really distracted by things that take your interest. I mean, how else does a teenager have time to paint on their ceiling?” He kinda missed Cthulhu. “Gee, look, if you don’t want to tell me the truth, then I totally understand.” Frank didn’t understand. “I just want you back in my life. That’s it. So, just act like you care about me again. Like you care about what I want. What I need.”

Gerard nodded. Then he ducked his head, haltingly leaned forward, and kissed Frank tenderly, yet nervously, like he thought Frank was going to pull away. It was like their first kiss all over again, and Frank was just as addicted to the taste. He moaned softly, curling his fingers in Gerard’s hair, bringing Gerard closer and even going up on his toes because he totally wanted his tongue in Gerard’s mouth, please and thank you. Gerard curled into him, bending down to kiss him like he finally— finally— fucking meant it, and Frank was flying. 

He tore at Gerard’s hair, at his shirt, pushing him back into the room and onto the bed, and god, he was really suddenly ready to go, because he could have sworn he was going to lose this, but now that he wasn’t, he knew he would get this right. Ryan’s attempt at sex education would not go to waste.

. . .

“What are you gonna do?” Ryan asked Frank as Ryan pulled on his shoes to go look around downtown for work. Brendon was meeting with Patrick under Pete’s supervision, and Ryan was antsy as fuck, probably imagining every horrible scenario, but Frank knew it was going to be okay. Brendon was smitten and Pete was an asshole. Brendon wouldn’t do that sort of thing, even if it were for a chance at the big time (and how fucking lucky was Brendon for hitting it up with someone big so quickly?)

“I think I’m just gonna stay home and cook stuff,” Frank sighed.

“I think you need therapy,” Ryan chuckled.

Frank watched him for a moment. “… Yeah?”

Ryan also paused. “Frankie, if you think you need help, there’s no shame in getting it,” his best friend told him gently. Frank appreciated their moments of sympathetic honesty. “Therapy isn’t something to be ashamed of. There have been huge leaps in psychotherapeutic fields of therapy since the 30s, Frankie, they can totally help you. I totally support this.” Ryan nodded to himself, or to Frank, Frank wasn’t actually sure. “You should get therapy. God knows you need it.”

Frank snorted and arched a brow. “Wow, man, thanks. Thank you for that.”

Ryan shrugged. “I say it like it is. And your mother burnt alive, then you got threatened by some asshole for being in love with another asshole, and watched your friend get shot. You’re a fucked up kid, Frankie. Most of us are.”

“You’re more fucked up than me,” Frank shot back with a frown to hide his pettiness. 

Ryan just laughed and shook his head. “Get a therapist, Frankie. You’ll thank yourself for it.”

. . .

“I, I have a interview!” Gerard shouted as he ran into the house, arms in the air, letter in hand. “I have an interview, Frankie! With the comics place I told you about, all the way back in f-fucking Jersey! I sent in some of my work and they’re interested in me, Frankie! They wanna meet me!”

Frank looked up from where he was doing his “homework,” which was really writing down a list of things that made him smile. He underlined Gerard’s name, which was at the top of his list, before giving his boyfriend his attention. “Which place was that?” he asked, just because he didn’t want to name the wrong comic publisher and sound like a fucking idiot.

“Atlas comics,” Gerard replied with a wide grin. “With Kirby. Fucking Kirby, Frankie! And they want me! They, they actually want my art, my stories, they want me on the team! They want me to make heroes and villains with them, Frankie, this is a dream come true! A dream I never even fucking dared to have!” Gerard paused and looked down at what Frank was writing. “… What’s that?”

“Homework,” Frank replied. “For therapy.”

Gerard kept looking. “Why are you in therapy?”

“Because I don’t know who I am,” Frank responded with a simple shrug of his shoulders, even though it was hardly that simple. Gerard didn’t say anything. He just sat beside Frank and let him finish the list.

. . .

“I got hired in a bookstore,” Ryan told Frank that following night with a private grin. “My plan is to take it over with slow, methodically kind treatment of the old man who owns it, and let him realize that I am a million times better than his good for nothing nephew that fucks girls in the back on top of the romance stock. That punk is good for nothing but self induced mockery, and I will not let Mr. Gallows let his beautiful store befall someone that useless.”

“Mr. Gallows?” Frank chuckled. “That’s a horrible name.”

Ryan opened his mouth to continue when Ray suddenly came home, at least a few hours early. He was gleaming with sweat, dressed in his standard tank top and blue jeans that gripped his powerful thighs like the denim was painted on. Frank honestly thought that Ray was one of the finest specimens of humanity— big and strong and kind and smart and just fucking amazing. Mikey was stupid to not jump on that once he’d broken up with Pete, which honestly had been less of a turn over in this place than Frank had expected. It was like— one morning, Mikey went to class as Pete’s boyfriend, the came back as his ex-boyfriend, and everything was chill. Mikey hadn’t even even upset. Ray had tried to offer his shoulder to cry on, but Mikey had just laughed and pat Ray on the shoulder.

Ray was at work mostly constantly after that. He looked tired and worn out, like a rubber that had seen too much asphalt. Frank knew unrequited love could do that to a man. He knew that it could tear you open and make you feel like something was snacking on your fucking organs and laughing. Frank felt sorry for Ray. He truly and achingly did. 

“Hey, Ray,” Ryan greeted cautiously. Ray was never home before 9 P.M.. It was just after lunch at the moment, and Ray hadn’t been home during the daylight for at least two weeks. Everyone else had settled comfortably into their roles, Ryan with his books, Brendon working with Patrick, and Gerard pouring over Atlas comics and studying colors and materials and mediums like he didn’t already know what he was doing. “How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a while. Is everything okay?”

“Boss sent me home because he could get in trouble for my labor hours,” Ray said with a heavy sigh that spoke of his exhaustion louder than the bruises under his eyes. “Not supposed to work fourteen days in a row for twelve hours a day.” Ray dropped onto the couch, and stared at the way the mud was clinging to the toes of his shoes. 

“You okay, Ray?” Ryan asked again, reaching out to put a gentle hand on Ray’s shoulder. Ray didn’t flinch, and Frank was reminded of how Ray was the least messed up of all of them. Ray was a good fucking person. He didn’t deserve to feel such heart ache.

“How’ve you been eating?” Ryan asked asked instead, figuring he had to try a different route to get Ray to talk. “You look pretty good. Lots of fruits and vegetables, yeah?”

Frank choked down a laugh.

“Mikey probably won’t ever love me like I love him, will he?” Ray asked dismally.

Ryan fell silent and Frank grimaced before leaning against the back of the couch and reaching out to rest a hand on Ray’s shoulder like Ryan had done. Ray sighed again and rolled his neck, melting into the couch. “God, I’m just so tired, you know? I’m not pining or anything. I’m not trying to woo him. Do you think I should? Should I try to make him fall in love with me? I think I’m too tired for this sort of thing.”

“You can’t give up,” Ryan murmured. “So please don’t.”

Ray sighed for a third time. “I’m just tired of being in love with Mikey when he doesn’t love me back. I’m tired of hurting and I’m tired of pretending that I’m not hurting. I’m tired of everything. And all I want is to just hold him and make him feel special, like Pete should have done.”

Ryan was staring past Ray’s shoulders, over at something or someone else, and Frank glanced in that direction with his peripherals, then felt cold all over when he saw fucking Mikey leaning against the doorway, obviously listening in on what Ray was saying. Not only was that a dick move, but Frank didn’t know what to say to make Ray stop. If he brought attention to this, then Ray would be humiliated and probably try to run away or something equally unwelcome. Frank wanted Ray to stick around and see the aftermath of his confession.

“He’s beautiful,” Ray continued with an aching expression. “He’s truly and desperately beautiful. There is no one in the world like him, and I love that. I love him. I love how smart he is and how he underplays the intelligence by saying it isn’t a big deal. He’s so humble and kind and understanding and he gets me, really, gets what I want from life, thinks I’m his friend, which I am. He trusts me a-and I wish I could go beyond that trust to true intimacy.” Ray was starting to blush, though it was a little difficult to see through his sun-darkened skin. “He didn’t deserve the way Pete treated him. He deserved a boyfriend that loved him and kept him close and treat him as his one and only and always, fucking always encourage him. He deserves…”

Ray trailed off, so Frank said it for him. “He deserves someone like you.” Frank was looking at Mikey as he said this, and Mikey was looking back, his expression akin to a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mikey stared back at Frank with shock in his eyes like he’d never even considered that Ray was harboring feelings for him, which Frank was pretty sure was the case. It was kinda sad to think that Mikey could’ve had someone like Ray always if Mikey hadn’t had to move away.

Frank jerked his head to the right, towards Ray, trying to nudge Mikey into action and say something, bring attention to himself, let Ray know that he was spewing his heart out to an audience he hadn’t intended to be listening. It never really crossed Frank’s mind that Mikey wouldn’t feel the same. He couldn’t feel the same when it was Ray fucking Toro? The giant with a heart of gold and amazing hair. Anyone lucky enough to be loved by someone as true and kind as Ray was bound to love him back.

Mikey, though, looked like he was debating on running away. He was chewing on the second knuckle of his index finger, eyes flicking between Ray and Frank like he was really struggling with this decision. Frank jerked his head again, a bit more aggressively, which Ray noticed. Ray frowned.

“You okay, Frankie?” Ray asked with genuine concern that made Frank’s chest clench a little. Literally no one deserved someone as attentive and good as Ray. “What’re you looking at?”

Frank let out a few random noises as he tried to think of a way to stall, when Mikey was suddenly standing in front of the couch, looking a little uncomfortable and completely out of his depth. Ray stared at Mikey as he slowly realized that Mikey had (more than likely) heard the confessions Ray had made. Frank almost wanted to cross his fingers and toes.

“Uh, hi,” Ray greeted with more than a little awkwardness. He was probably trying to gauge from Mikey’s expression how much Mikey had heard.

“I had no idea you felt that for me,” Mikey confessed, apparently ready to just dive headfirst into the deep end. “Like, no fucking idea at all, Ray. I could’ve sworn you were dating that Christie chick when I left. I mean, you were hardly ever with her, but she was all over you, so I just, I don’t know, assumed?” Mikey tugged at his hair. “I’ve never thought about being with you before. Never crossed my mind. You’re too good of a person.”

Ray ducked his head, hair splaying out across his face to hide his expression. He got up and started to leave.

“Wait, wait, hold up!” Mikey said quickly, a hand reaching up to rest on Ray’s chest and push him back towards the couch. Ray was by far stronger than Mikey, but he let Mikey do so anyways. “Ray, jesus, this isn’t rejection. This is contemplation. I’m facing this shit like a scientist, okay? I’ve got to use some sort of method to face this, otherwise I know I’m going to fuck it up. Like I fucked up with Pete. I just, I-I don’t want that to become of us. Pete was a guy I met and dated, but you? You’re one of my best friends. I can’t afford to fuck this up.”

“You won’t,” Ray told Mikey in a small voice that was way too weak for someone like Ray Toro. “You won’t mess this up. You’re too real, Mikey. Too perfect.”

“Your confidence in me is flattering, but misplaced.” Mikey smiled in a self deprecating fashion. “If I’m gonna give this a shot, I’m gonna need you to trust me, okay? I’ve got science down to a fucking art. I know how I’m going to go about this. Just give me a chance and don’t give up on me. Please?”

Ray nodded, looking like he was desperate for any chance he could get. “Thank you,” Ray said, sound more relieved than Frank had ever heard anyone sound.

. . .

 

“Frankie?”

Frank looked up at the sound of his name being called from inside the house. He was sitting in the backyard, perched atop the tiny shed that was in the tinier backyard, able to see the ocean from here and listen to the waves crash against the shore. He had a notebook in his lap, really more of a journal that Ryan had gotten him from the bookstore. It was leather and handmade and the pages didn’t have lines imprinted on the sheets, so Frank loved it. He was writing down the characteristics of the people in his life, as he’d been instructed to do by his therapist. 

He looked down from his spot to see Gerard standing in the back porch doorway, chewing on his lower lip. “I have something I want to show you.”

Frank jumped down from the shed and landed lightly on his feet, journal closed and in hand.

He’d been doing well. He felt less empty and aimless. He didn’t have a purpose, not yet, and he had no idea who he was, but he was confident in his friends. In their presence in his future. He knew he wasn’t going to end up dead in a ditch from addiction to apathy, and he knew he was going to have some semblance of success in his life. He knew he had talents and skills, and although he didn’t know how to put them to use, he knew he would, eventually, find a way. He wasn’t confident in himself, but he was confident in his ability to trust his friends. And that was what got him through the night.

Gerard took Frank’s hand and led him through the house that had quickly become a home. They passed Ray and Mikey sitting side by side at the table. Ray wasting over some flash cards covered with scientific terms Frank couldn’t hope to pronounce. Mikey was sitting closer to Ray than usual, and whenever he’d look to Ray for affirmation on his answer, their noses would be inches apart. Mikey didn’t looked bothered by this, would even smile softly at the closeness, and Frank knew that Mikey’s “experiment" would soon be over with rousingly positive answers. Frank knew Ray would have what he needed, and he knew they’d be amazing together. It was that “confidence in his friends” thing.

When they went past the room that Brendon and Ryan shared, Frank was pretty sure they were fucking, because Brendon was a loud piece of shit and Ryan usually used a pillow to muffle the noises, and there were just weighed down wails coming from behind the door, so definitely sex. Frank was confident those two were gonna be fine as well because they never had time to get in an argument with how busy they were with fucking each other’s mouths and just plain fucking. Gerard blushed faintly when they passed that door, so he was sure Gerard was thinking the same thing.

“I just, I wanted you to see this,” Gerard explained, pushing open their bedroom door (it was really Ray’s and Frank’s, but Gerard slept in here more often than not and Ray was starting to sleep in Mikey’s room for completely innocent reasons). “It just seemed like something I had to do.”

At first, Frank didn’t notice anything different. All the furniture was in the same place, the dresser had all the same stuff on it, the bed had the same sheets; Frank couldn’t find a single difference. Until he noticed Gerard was looking up at the ceiling. That was when Frank looked up to and saw a huge mural of the stars and solar system painted on individual sheets of paper, all pinned up above their heads. He saw Cthulhu behind Saturn and his heart ached with something that reminded him of the way he felt when Gerard smiled at him.

“I worked on the pages during your therapy sessions,” Gerard explained. “I painted them individually, made them match my old ceiling as best as I could. I just remembered you being so self assured and optimistic when we were down in my basement. You wanted to see the ceiling after your mother died. So I thought that having that ceiling with you would help ground you. Help you remember what it feels like to have a hold on who you are. I want you to be able to feel real again, Frankie. I just… want you to feel better.”

Frank continued to stare up at the ceiling in awe. He then turned his head to smile at his boyfriend. He tossed the journal onto the bed, cupped Gerard’s face in his hands, and pulled him down for a kiss that meant more than the universe to them both.

“I know who I am,” he told Gerard softly. “I love you, and I’m yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hey
> 
> thanks for reading this
> 
> if you made it all the way through, then fucking kudos to you :)
> 
> you're eternally the jazziest.


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